CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Dust To Dust

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            THE DAY IT HAPPENED—the day many referred to as the end of the world as they knew it—Jules had already been called home from school. The strange, doughnut-shaped spaceship cutting through the city was a sensible reason to end the day early, even if it disappeared after a few hours. So, Jules had filed obediently out of his classroom, constantly straining to peer out the window as if he could get a glimpse of the new set of aliens that had attacked. After all, he'd only been three years old when Loki had sent the Chitauri to New York, and thus didn't remember anything about what had happened—not even when the nuke had been pointed straight at his head. But now he was nine, and he'd battled enough extraterrestrials in video games to prepare him for today. If he got his hands on one, he would wring its neck, no matter how big it was.

Unfortunately, he didn't see any aliens. So he met up with Eva at the front of the school, waiting for Mom to pick them up. Dad was going for Cecelia and Alex—work had been cancelled, too. They were all going straight home, where they'd barricade the windows, turn on a movie—if Jules was really lucky, they would watch Night at the Museum, which had surpassed Cars to become his new favourite—and drink hot chocolate, praying that things didn't escalate to the danger of 2012.

But they were only in the car for five minutes before Dad phoned in. And the car had Bluetooth, meaning that Jules could hear every frantic word on his end.

"Ellen?"

Mom turned her blinker on. Jules almost rolled his eyes. Only she would signal her turns during an alien invasion. "What's wrong, Michael?"

"I've got Alex here right now, but he says that Cecelia's gone missing. She disappeared on the school bus driving her class back from the MoMA field trip."

Mom sucked in a breath, her hands clenching so tightly on the steering wheel that her knuckles turned white. Eva, who'd had her eyes glued on her phone, desperately checking for updates on the situation, looked up to exchange a worried look with her brother.

"What?" Mom asked.

"No one knows where she is. Christine says that she was sitting beside her, but after the spaceship arrived, she just vanished. Her and that boy from her class, too. Peter... Parker?"

"Oh, God." Mom had to pull to the side of the road to catch her breath. "Oh, God. Where is my baby?"

"I don't know. She isn't picking up any of my calls. Alex is making himself sick. After what happened a year and a half ago..."

Mom tensed. Even now, eighteen months later, Jules could tell she still didn't like being reminded of Uncle Rick. He was still in prison—he'd gotten a fifty-year sentence after everything he'd done to Cecelia, likely thanks to the efforts of Tony Stark, who'd somehow gotten involved in the case. Mom had refused to let any of them visit him, claiming that the further away he was, the better. This had been somewhat of a disappointment to Jules, who'd only wanted to go in order to clear up the fact that this Uncle—the evil man who'd participated in weapons trafficking and abused and tried to murder Cecelia—was the same Uncle who Jules had used to adore. The same one he used to yearn to spend even half as much time with as he did Cecelia.

"Richard's in prison," Mom said, her voice shaking slightly. "It isn't him, whatever it is."

"I tried to tell him that, but he won't hear me. Do you think it's too soon to call the police?"

"Dad." Eva sat up straight and raised her voice. "The police won't be available right now. Their hands are too full of all this alien stuff."

"God... you're right. So what do we do?"

"I'm going to try calling her," Mom said. "You take Alex home, okay? The traffic's real bad right now, so we'll probably be there in around twenty minutes. In the meantime, try to keep him calm. It's not his fault. Cecelia... God, I thought she was doing better. Dr. Patel has been telling us nothing but good news. Do you think something happened to trigger her, and she ran off?"

"That is a possibility. We'll both keep calling her, okay? Hopefully, she'll come home on her own. If not, I'll head out there to look for her."

"No. No way. Absolutely not, Michael. It's a warzone. You need to be home."

"She's out there, Ellen."

"I know. We'll find her. Maybe she's just... preoccupied."

Mom sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

But it turned out that Cecelia was more than preoccupied. When Jules finally got home, he found out from Dad that there was no news. He'd even made a call to the Parker boy's aunt, only to receive no results. Peter was staying with Ned, apparently. But Cecelia wasn't with him.

So the night wore on. The news broke that Tony Stark had gone missing as well, leaving what remained of the Avengers to scramble together. Dad noticed that they were all getting too tense and put on The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Alex, who'd been crying on and off for hours, made them all sandwiches to distract himself, and didn't even forget to give Jules his special mayonnaise. Eva brought up something about Spider-Man and Phantom—a vigilante that Jules had to admit was cool, but not as cool as Spider-Man—being seen near the spaceship. Mom kept calling Cecelia until her phone went dead.

But then... it happened.

Eva was just reaching for the bowl of popcorn Jules had microwaved when she suddenly let out a sharp gasp. Something was happening to her fingers—they seemed to be disintegrating, drifting away as dust. Mom and Dad both leaped to their feet, hurrying towards her, but by the time they reached her spot on the couch, she was gone.

She'd—she'd disappeared.

And she wasn't the only one, either. Alex had been making his way to the couch, reaching out for the flecks of dust that had previously been his sister, when he, too, crumbled. Just... crumbled, becoming another pile of ash.

Jules stared. And stared. And stared.

What the hell just happened?

Of course, he would later learn that it hadn't just been his brother and sister that had disappeared. It was half of the world's population, including three of his friends, his principal and several teachers, and many of his YouTube subscribers. In the months that came, this impromptu event was christened 'the Blip' and the world mourned. Jules did, too.

They'd never even found Cecelia. It was likely that she, too, had been a Blip victim—well, either that, or the unthinkable had happened. In just one day, Jules had lost all of his siblings. His parents had lost three of their children.

None of them knew how to cope.

Jules spent a lot of time in his room, staring at the ceiling. His parents hadn't been able to bear moving any of Alex's things, so they stayed where they were, just as he'd left them. The slightly askew Iron Man poster. The Midtown sweatshirt tossed over his desk chair. His unmade bed, one of the pillows slumping towards the floor.

No one went into Cecelia and Eva's room.

Somehow, Jules got older. He turned ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen. He got braces and glasses and pimples all over his face, and all he could think about every time he looked in the mirror was that his siblings were supposed to have been there to tease him when this happened. He finished elementary school and started middle school, then finished that too. After some time and a lot of discussion, his family moved to a smaller apartment. Jules got a cat he named King.

And Mom and Dad adopted a baby.

"It's not to replace them," Dad told Jules, who was sitting on the couch with King on his lap. "Of course not. We're never going to replace your brother and your sisters. It's just—the little girl we're thinking about... her mother ended up killing herself last year. After her... after her, um, entire family died. Another Blip car accident."

There had been a lot of those.

"I know," Jules said back. "I know this is just who you guys are. And I don't blame you."

After all, he'd lost his birth family, too.

Jules's new sister was named Cora. She was six months old when she first came into the Olivier family and managed to be both adorable and disgusting. She had a burbly laugh that managed to warm something in Jules's heart, the roundest cheeks you couldn't help but want to squeeze, and a soft down of fine black hair on her head. But she also once puked all over Jules's shirt, threw baby food everywhere, and constantly needed a diaper change. Jules both loved her and hated her at the same time, but he still fully embraced the role of big brother. He'd never been in that role, before.

He didn't want to, but he got used to his new life. He continued his YouTube channel, watching his subscriber count get higher and higher after the initial dip. He made new friends in high school, trying to ignore the pang in his chest that felt like he was betraying his old ones. He studied hard and somehow managed to reach the top of his class. He went to the Statue of Liberty and tried to forget the time he'd come here with his siblings.

In his mind, this had become the new normal. Life without fifty percent of the population. Life where everyone had lost someone close to them, where memorials were decked up at every corner. Life without his family.

In his mind, this had become the new normal. Which was why it was such a shock to him when everyone came back.

THERE WAS NOTHING. Not darkness, but not pure, white light, either. Absolute nothingness, a pure world of nonexistence. Nothing as bothersome as bodies existed. There was no seeing, no hearing, no feeling. It was a void, a nullity, a hollow between space and time. It was deeper than dreaming, lighter than death, falling somewhere in the middle. You could only describe it by using what it was not—you couldn't use was because there was no was. It wasn't existence. It wasn't nonexistence. It was just... oblivion.

And it was peaceful, too. There was no pain. No grief. No heartache. No loss.

But there was also no happiness. No love. No warmth. No wonder. And that simply couldn't be.

No one would remember what it was like to be nothing. You would ask some, later, and they would say it was just like a blink. Others would describe how it felt like they had been asleep. A long, dreamless rest.

For Cecelia, it was a mixture of both.

Less than a second after Bruce Banner had slid on the Infinity Gauntlet and snapped his fingers, Cecelia's entire body was swirling back together. Piece by piece, it built itself up in the very spot it had vacated, until what had previously been nothing was a girl again. A girl with a broken wrist, blood running down her face, and her arms around someone who was no longer there.

It was probably the pain that forced her eyes open.

Cecelia blinked, then lurched forward, nearly tripping over her own feet. The world around her was fuzzy, and for a moment, she couldn't remember where she was—who she was. There had been—it had just been like—there was—

Then it all came rushing back, a mudslide that carried her away on its current. It was like what people said happened right before you died—your life flashing before your eyes. Except, for Cecelia, it was kind of the opposite. It was all coming back after.

She blinked again, and the world—which wasn't Earth, but Titan—cleared. She blinked again, and she stared, because what the hell had happened? Hadn't Mr. Stark been here a second ago? Hadn't she been—hadn't she been falling apart?

"Okay, what the fuck was that?"

A familiar voice roused Cecelia out of her rapidly growing worries. She whirled around immediately, seeking the speaker, and that was when her eyes locked on Solaris Magdalene and Cyrus Nadir.

The two of them still looked as bad as they had... before, blood streaking their own faces. Their hands were intertwined, pink into brown, and their jumpsuits were ripped. Cyrus was glancing around slowly as if xe didn't believe what xe was seeing. Sol was clutching her chest with her free hand, gasping like she'd just run a marathon.

"What the fuck?" she asked again. "Seriously, what the fuck?"

"I don't—I'm feeling a little lightheaded," Cyrus breathed. "What just—didn't we just—"

"Sol?" Cecelia asked. "Cyrus? You're—you're here."

"Uh, yeah," Sol said. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"I just—I just saw you—" Cecelia glanced down at her own body again, wrapping her good arm around her midsection. It was solid as it was when she wanted it to be. All of her organs seemed to be in place. Her wrist was still killing her. "I just—"

Sol was right. What the fuck was going on?

"CeCe?" That was Peter's voice. When Cecelia turned, she found him making his way to her, his eyes wide enough to capture a moon within them. He looked exactly like he had... when it had happened, though his hair was a little messier. "Are you—are you okay?"

"Besides my broken wrist, I'm great," Cecelia breathed. "I'm just—I just don't know what's going on."

"Yeah, I'm kind of at a loss, too," said Quill. He was here in one piece, too, standing beside Mantis. Drax was a few feet away, glancing down at himself. "Did we all, like... pass out? Share a collective fever dream?"

"I don't ever want to share a dream with you, Quill," Cyrus said.

"I'm hurt."

"You once told me you had a wet dream about a Xandarian Snail."

He narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said you wouldn't tell anyone that."

"Hey!" Peter interjected. "Innocent ears, here!"

"Yeah, come on, Cy," Sol teased. "You're supposed to be the parent here, aren't you?"

"Okay, enough," Cecelia said. Surprisingly, there was something in her tone that made everyone—even the adults—shut their mouths and turn to her. She crossed her arms, still breathing hard. "First of all, where's Mr. Stark? And that robotic blue alien lady?"

"Her name is Nebula," Mantis corrected.

"He was just here," Peter said, brow furrowed. "Then I started, like, disintegrating, and... I can't remember anything after that."

"You did, too?" Cecelia asked, heart pounding. "Oh, Creator."

"Disintegrating?" Drax asked. "I believe I recall something like that happening."

"Yeah," Sol said. "We saw you disappear. Mantis, you too. And our Peter."

"Then you," Cecelia whispered. "You and Cyrus. Then I swear I did, too, I thought—I thought Thanos did it. I thought he wiped out half of the population."

"He did."

When a new voice injected itself into the conversation, everyone went quiet again. They stepped aside as Doctor Strange, cloak fluttering at his shoulders, stepped forward. His face was grim. "Thanos achieved his goal," he said. "He collected the final Infinity Stone off of Vision's head and took out fifty percent of the universe. I saw it happen when I was viewing those fourteen million futures. But I also saw one future where we came back."

"Oh," Peter breathed. "Okay."

"There's a lot I have to explain, but there's no time," Doctor Strange said. "We have to go."

"Where?" Quill asked.

"To Earth. The Avengers need our help."

"Please tell me it's to kick Thanos's ass."

"It is indeed."

"Then I'm in. He took—he took my girl away. I'm not letting him get away with that."

"He wiped out my entire fucking planet," Sol growled. "He's not getting away with that, either."

Cecelia took in a deep breath. Her good hand shook, and her other—she couldn't even look at it. Her pulse was roaring in her ears, thinking of what Doctor Strange had just told her. Thanos achieved his goal.

She'd been—she'd been gone. But now, somehow, she was back. Alive. Given a second chance.

Holding her broken wrist close to her chest, she gave Doctor Strange a nod. Pain or not, she had to do this. She'd been gone. She didn't want to know how long it had been.

"I'm in, too."

"Me, too!" Peter piped up. "You know, I've never been dead before. I gotta say, I'm not a real fan of the experience."

Once everyone had agreed to jumpstart into the next battle—even though it didn't even feel like the first one had ended—Doctor Strange left them to prepare themselves while he went to recruit the rest of the team. There was still a lot he wasn't telling them—what had happened, how they were back, who else was joining the fight—but Cecelia managed to swallow down her questions for now.

"We're going to meet the Avengers," Peter said weakly, helping bind her wrist. "Do you think Captain America's still mad at me?"

"I think he'll get over it," Cecelia said.

It didn't even take ten minutes for Doctor Strange to arrive again. When he did, it was clear to Cecelia that this was it. They were going.

They were joining the fight once more.

Doctor Strange's hands moved. An orange portal opened in front of him.

It led into a battlefield.

The world had turned into ruins. Earth was as dark as Titan had been, with the sky clustered with bulky, menacing clouds. Fires flickered atop of the ruins of what appeared to have previously been a building, and the air was thick with something more than just smoke. It was cold enough to send sweeping shivers across Cecelia's arms, her breath practically misting the air.

And there was an army across from her.

There was Thanos, standing straight and tall, in ornate armour that he certainly hadn't had before. The blade of the sword in his right hand must have been bigger than Cecelia's face, practically sharp enough to slice through Vibranium. He was flanked by his lackeys—one was the alien Cecelia had helped fight in the park, and another was, incredibly, the one they'd killed in the doughnut spaceship—all of whom seemed to be thirsting for blood. Behind him... well.

Chitauri.

There must have been thousands of them, with their reptilian faces and almost gaunt frames. They marched forward in unison, their Leviathan friends floating above their heads, all of them drooling for the kill. Cecelia could take out one, and a hundred more would pounce on her, ripping her to pieces.

This had to be some sort of penance for helping Richard sell weapons made out of their technology.

But while Cecelia may have called it hopeless if it was just her—or, if it was even just her, Peter, Doctor Strange and the Guardians—she was actually beginning to think this might be an equal fight.

Because her side had thousands, too.

At least a hundred similar portals had opened, all depositing allies against Thanos and his army. There was a group of warriors Cecelia recognized as Wakandans, chanting in Xhosa with their spears held aloft. A whole team with the same magic as Doctor Strange held their arms out, orange swirling on their palms. A unit led by a woman on an honest-to-Creator Pegasus cocked guns and readied swords.

And, right at the very front...

The Avengers.

There was Captain America, streaked head-to-toe in grime, poised even with his shield broken in two. There was the Hulk—he was back?—standing beside War Machine and a raccoon Sol seemed to recognize. Falcon swooped through the air, wings aloft. Ant-Man (who Cecelia remembered joining the Rogues and immediately getting tossed into jail) seemed the antithetical of his name as he stood tall enough to reach the clouds. Wanda Maximoff's eyes glowed almost as fiercely as her hands. Thor—freakin' Thor—was standing near Hawkeye. Black Panther led his army of Wakandans.

It almost didn't feel real, that Cecelia was standing among all these people. Even if some of them were technically war criminals, they were still all heroes, and she couldn't help but question her place. What did she, a sixteen-year-old girl who'd technically been a villain for most of her time as Phantom, have to add to the table?

Then her eyes locked onto Mr. Stark.

He was near the front, too, full Iron Man, repulsors already charging. A lump formed in Cecelia's throat at the sight of him. It hadn't been very long since she'd wrapped her arms around him desperately, attempting to prevent herself from vanishing, but it somehow managed to feel like years.

For some reason, the day he'd given her the first upgraded Phantom suit came to mind. He'd written a note to go along with it, a note that Cecelia would have framed if not for the possibility of Eva seeing.

Your mistakes don't define you. I believe in you, kid.

-TS

I have a place here, she told herself. I'm... shit. I'm an Avenger, too. I can do this.

Which was why she stepped forward. Why she double-checked the settings on her stunners. Why she was preparing herself to run when Captain America—fucking Captain America—called out to them all. "Avengers!"

He held out his arm, and a hammer—one that suspiciously resembled Mjølnir, Thor's hammer—flew into his waiting grasp. Then, with a voice that did not shake mountains but managed to command thousands of people, aliens, gods, and wizards, he finished, "Assemble."

With a battle cry, both armies jumped into action.

Cecelia engaged her rocket boots, carrying herself over the heads of the crowd. She was joined in the air by the woman on the Pegasus, Falcon, Peter, Quill, and a number of others that honestly blew her mind to think about. Her wrist still throbbed, but she managed to ignore the pain as she activated her stunners. Beams of light shot out towards the oncoming Chitauri, who, unlike the aliens from before, were not impervious to them. A few went flying back, bowling over each other, providing opportunity for those on the ground to finish them off.

And it was just like any other battle, just like patrol. Cecelia narrowed her gaze, zeroing in her world to focus just on herself and the enemy before her. She took out enemy after enemy on the ground, letting her boots carry her safely over their heads. When she hit the Chitauri that had been going for Hawkeye, he actually looked up and gave her a thumbs-up.

It may or may not have been the highlight of her week.

She darted past Sol and Cyrus, who were once again back-to-back, creating a massive pile of their enemies, past Captain America and Thor, who were tag-teaming the Chitauri with their very similar weapons, past a few of the Wakandan Dora Milaje warriors, past a little, seemingly sentient tree—wait, was that Groot?—to land. Once she did, a few of the aliens went careening towards her, saliva dripping off their fanged mouths. They came from all angles, trying to box her in, already readying their staffs.

Cecelia waited until they were literally inches away before going intangible.

They all smashed into each other, butting heads and crumpling to the ground. Cecelia's boots carried her above their heads, where she became solid again. There, she struck down any of them who dared try to get to their feet again.

Huh. She was getting pretty good at this.

Now in the air again, she continued taking down the enemies that were still on the ground. Even with the warriors on her side—some going through nearly a hundred in an instant—there were still plenty enough to go around. So, she continued on, turning intangible whenever she needed to, slowly but surely picking her way through her enemies.

Beside her, Falcon whooped, cutting through an entire chain of Chitauri with ease. On her other side, Quill blasted another set into oblivion. Below, a man whistled, and an arrow zipped through the crowd, impaling enemy after enemy after enemy in seconds.

Cecelia almost smiled.

When she was back in the air, though, she faced her first real problem. It was a Leviathan, swimming through the sky in order to aim itself at her. It opened its gaping mouth—large enough to swallow her, the Hulk, Thor and the Pegasus all in one bite, with room left over—to catch her within its jaws. The armour on its supple body ripped as it moved.

Cecelia didn't bother shooting at it. Its armour would just deflect her blasts, and she might up hitting one of her allies by accident. Instead, she remembered something she'd read about the Leviathans after the 2012 Battle of New York. The fact that beneath the Leviathan's armour lay soft flesh.

Which meant—

Oh, this was going to be disgusting.

Her body melted into nothing just as the Leviathan closed its teeth around her. It bit into nothing but air and balked—but Cecelia was already moving. She did something she didn't usually do with her abilities, because there was usually another option.

She went inside the Leviathan's body.

Leviathans were a combination of metal and organic material, which technically made them cyborgs. Still, they had enough pulsing organs, all of them alive and frail, for Cecelia to work with.

She flew her way up to what she assumed was the Leviathan's heart—it looked relatively like one you'd find on Earth, though around four times the regular size. It was larger than Cecelia's head, and throbbed, veins pulsing. If she was right, this was what was holding the Leviathan together.

Which meant she had to take it apart.

Still intangible, Cecelia reached out, aiming her stunners at the organ. Then she closed her eyes, made sure her mask was secure over her face, and became substantial just in time to fire two beams into the Leviathan's heart.

She could tell by the squelch that they had connected. Immediately, she turned to nothing again, opening her eyes to reveal the deep gouges she'd made in the Leviathan's heart. Blood began to spill from within, and the heart quickly began to slow down. Distantly, she heard a long, pained screech emanate from the alien's mouth.

Then, it all stopped.

Coated in a copious amount of bodily fluid, Cecelia left the Leviathan's body just in time for it to go limp and begin to fall to the ground. It landed with a thud on top of another group of Chitauri, taking them out in an instant.

Cecelia wiped blood off her hood and pumped her good fist in success. She'd done it.

She was just about to go for a second Leviathan when a flash of red and gold caught in the corner of her eye. Immediately, she turned, her heart thudding.

And found Mr. Stark being knocked over by the alien from the park.

Not this time, dickhead, Cecelia thought, changing course in order to head over to provide aid. Mr. Stark had landed in a pile of rubble, shooting desperately at the raging beast, but it was advancing despite his best efforts. Cecelia got closer, then fired at the back of its head. She wasn't trying to actually make a hit, but to garner its attention. Then, perhaps she could try the same trick she'd done with the Leviathan.

It seemed that she had no need, though. The alien did indeed turn around, flailing its arms, but before it could do anything more than growl, a strand of webbing caught it across the chest. Peter, on its other end, gave it a steady yank, and the alien toppled, landing hard on the ground. It was promptly stepped on by Ant-Man's giant boot.

"Mr. Stark!" Cecelia dropped into a landing beside her... mentor? Boss? New idol? Peter sprung forward, too, offering a hand to help him up. Mr. Stark took it, clambering to his feet.

"Holy cow," Peter breathed, once they were all standing up. "You will not believe what's been going on. Do you remember when we were in space? And CeCe and I got all dusty? And we must've passed out, because we woke up and you were gone. But Doctor Strange was there, right? And he was like... 'We've got to go! C'mon, the Avengers need us.' And then he started doing the yellow sparkly thing that he does all the time—"

He was cut off by Mr. Stark pulling him into an embrace. Peter sucked in a breath, then leaned into it, holding him close. "Oh, this is nice," he murmured. Mr. Stark's own breath hitched unnaturally.

When they eventually broke apart, Mr. Stark turned surprisingly watery eyes toward Cecelia. Cecelia took him in, drinking in everything about his expression. He looked... older. His hair was patched with gray, and more wrinkles had joined the ones that already lined his eyes. There was a hollowness of his expression, too, one that reflected months, at least, of lost hope. A little bit of Cecelia twisted at the sight.

How long had she been gone?

"Hey," she said. "You've gotten old, old man."

And then Mr. Stark was pulling her in, too.

Cecelia, who could usually barely endure hugs, took this one in completely. It wasn't the most comfortable—armour clashing together would do that—but it was Mr. Stark, the man who'd famously told Peter that they weren't at the stage of embraces yet. The man who was depicted as cold as ice, the Merchant of Death by the media. He was the one holding her. Even though she was covered in Leviathan guts.

"God," Mr. Stark whispered. "I missed you, kid."

Cecelia sensed that something was off, but for now, she didn't let herself question it. She just hugged him back with her good arm, recalling the first time she'd ever met him, and tried to keep the tears forming in her eyes at bay.

And if she failed... well. She could always blame the dust in the air.

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