Often disregarded fact of life: if someone wants to kill you, and doesn't care if they get caught, there is very, very little that can be done to stop them. – TV Tropes Editor

When a man snaps, it's usually not any one thing that set him off, but rather the culmination of many things over a length of time. – Rupert Cullingham, author

"This has officially been the week from hell," Gene muttered to himself as he teleported, the words lost to the vortex. "The gods hate me."

Not that he hadn't earned it. Oh, he'd walked into this willingly and knowingly. Small wonder the universe would throw this at him now. Even before this the spirits hadn't been fond of Gene Stark. One friend, dysfunctional foster family, no biological family and now the Wakandan Guard Force was after him. He'd make some snarky remark about how things could be worse if he wasn't so sure that doing so would trigger something worse. He appeared in a flash of light inside the helicopter, not in the least amused by the guns pointed at him or the glares he was having leveled at him. Shuri wrapped her arms around him as best she could, and said something that made most of the guards stand down, watching him curiously. No matter. The damage was done; Gene was getting used to anger pulsing under his skin like a second blood and when the head WGF agent glared at him the Mongolian boy glared right back, only just barely holding in his tongue. He wanted to make a smart ass comment about not realizing saving lives was a crime, but he was too afraid of making things worse to do so. Hadn't he done enough damage during the Rhodey debacle?

"I would never kidnap anyone, or assault anyone who wasn't armed," he assured the WGF agent who was scowling at him. "Someone or something triggered her cryokinesis. I just got it back under her control."

"Why should I believe that?" the WGF agent said, dark eyes narrowed. "You're a foreigner."

"You're right, I am. I'm from Mongolia, where everything is different. But one thing's universal: logic. I can teleport. If I wanted to kidnap her I could've been halfway across town by now and you'd have no way of following me. Think about it. Why would I come here and debate with you if I wanted to grab her and run?"

"Then why have you not released her?" he demanded evenly.

Altanbaatar spread his arms. Shuri clung to him with hands and feet, nestled up against him like he was her human shield. One of the guards laughed and said something to her Gene didn't understand. Shuri seemed to, gingerly climbing down off of her rescuer and smiling up at him. She reached for his hand and clasped it tightly in both of his. Whatever she said next sent the entire helicopter into peals of laughter. He sighed and turned to the English speaking Wakandan, awaiting an explanation of some sort. The stoic man was struggling not to laugh, smiling with the whitest teeth Gene had ever seen. His skin was warm toned, dark burnt orange like the sky over the city during the sunrise. He didn't seem nearly as confrontational with his gun holstered. For that matter, he had seemed strangely relieved and relaxed once he realized Altanbaatar was not American by birth. For a moment Gene wondered what was going on behind the scenes that had led to this international tension and he made a mental note to go ask Tony later tonight. His brother was an expert on that kind of thing nowadays.

"She says she wants to marry you," the head guard translated, snickering. "What shall I tell her?"

"That that's not legal in the state of New York," Gene replied smoothly. Oh gods if I get out of this without being shot I swear I won't swear anymore. He struggled to keep his face stoic. Paranoid Wakandans aren't as weird as happy ones.

There was a pause as Shuri and the head guard exchanged words. Another round of chuckles emerged. "She says you can move to her home and she'll have her father change the law so you can get married."

Gene smiled in self-deprecation. "She can do a lot better than a poor foreigner who doesn't even have a GED. But I'm flattered anyway." He held out his hand to the guard. "I am Altanbaatar, one of New York City's many resident superheroes. I'm sorry for the misunderstanding. And you are?"

"I am Atsu, leader of the Wakandan Guard Force." He shook Gene's hand firmly, looking solemn. "These are my top agents. We are Lady Shuri's guardians while the royal family visits."

"I see. So, I know why she's here is none of my business, so I just want to ask if you have any idea who hit her with this?" he pulled out the device that had been attached to her. "It seemed to trigger her elemental powers-"

"She is not an elemental!" Atsu snapped, hands curling into fists.

"Yes, she is. Only an ice elemental could've done this-"

"She is thermokinetic and telepathic, nothing else! The royal family is not elemental, they have never been!" Atsu had a glare that might've shut Gene up had he not been in super hero form. It was still nerve shaking and not just a little terrifying. This man was giving him mood whiplash.

"This device has psitanium in it. You know what that does to people," Gene said, growing exasperated. "She's probably elemental and psychic now."

Dead silence fell as all eyes trained on the device and the little girl, who was looking up at him with curious, worried eyes. She didn't understand English. She did not understand what everyone was talking about. Even if she had, she had no comprehension of the enormity behind what was going on. She was going to grow up to be one of the most powerful people on Earth, a rare doubly gifted child, and neither the elemental community nor the psychics would ever quite accept her. Her future was now uncertain at best. Gene cursed himself for not having gotten to her earlier and stopped whatever this was from changing her so radically. He knelt down and brushed a strand of her hair out of her face, watching his latest mistake smile up at him, oblivious to her fate. The gravity of the situation was not entirely lost on her. She reached up to hug him before he pulled away, handing the device to Atsu solemnly. The black man was studying him closely.

"Your people will be better at identifying this thing's origins than me. Good luck." Gene would've smiled, had he not felt so defeated. Ah, well, they wouldn't have seen it through the costume. And even if they had, Gene's smiles were rapidly becoming plastic and false.

He had to get back to Rhodey soon, anyway.

"Gene, I love you, man, but you're smothering me!" Rhodey half-shouted, drawing the attention of several passerby pedestrians. "You're sleeping on the couch tonight!"

"You never touch me anymore anyway!" Gene retorted, and the black boy froze, an expression of horror on his face. "Oh, come on, Rhodes, you walked right in that one. I thought you said I was being too serious nowadays? You can't have it both ways…" Gene paused, chuckling. "I love my Freudian slips."

"Someone has to," Rhodey replied, shaking his head. "Just tell me why you're going to some hippie New Age magic shop? And why am I going along on this zany scheme?"

"Firstly, Rhodes, this isn't a zany scheme. Super Toaster was a zany scheme. The Dawn Of Two Hundred Llamas was a zany scheme. This is just shopping, so suck it up, because in the odd event either of us gets a girlfriend, we'll have to do a lot more of this." The Mongolian looped him arm through Rhodey's to steady him for the fourth time that block and Rhodey wiggled his arm free for the fourth time, looking annoyed. "To answer those questions in order: I'm going to get some stuff to start climbing my way out of Hell, and you're coming along of your own free will for reasons I cannot fathom. This sure as heck isn't traditional dude stuff, so maybe it's just insanity and the desperate urge to be out of the house and away from your mom."

"Actually, I think it's got more to do with your newfound obsession with Hell than anything else. It's really freaking me out." The black boy sighed as Gene looped his arm through his friend's yet again. "I'm really worried about you. You've been acting weird ever since the plane crash and this isn't helping. You wanna tell me what's up?"

"I told SHIELD about magic, elementals and psychics in great detail. Rhodey, any one of those things is enough to land me in that special part of the afterlife reserved for traitors and liars, and I did all three. I need to start working my way out of this as soon as possible." He opened the door to a shop that reeked of incense and led Rhodey in, crinkling his nose at the various smells. "You wouldn't understand, you're not a magic user."

"I'm trying to understand, Gene, I really am. I can't, though, if you won't talk to me. I know we've never been super close but that doesn't mean I don't want to get you through this."

"'Temugin Khan, you're bad for Tony Stark. You start fights, say mean things and make everyone sad. I hate you and wish you'd go away.' That ring any bells, Rhodes?" Gene smirked, but it was self hating and dark, mirthless. Even at five years old, Rhodey had been freakishly perceptive. It was a trait he and his mother had honed to a fine edge with the passing years. "You and I both know I'm toxic. I hurt everyone I care about. And trying to save someone just got me deeper into the hole. You were right. I make everything worse. I'm bad for Tony. So…" he looked thoughtfully at the various unidentifiable objects on the shelves. "I need to make up for everything. This is step one."

"Frog legs are step one?" Rhodey asked, quirking an eyebrow at the assortment of things Gene was grabbing. "Look, I don't know anything about this. You have to fill me in a little more."

He snorted. "Ironic, really. Black people have the strongest magic of any group and you're the clueless one in this equation."

"I though you said-"

"Black people have the fewest elementals, Rhodey. There's a big difference between that and magic. Elementals have a lot more sociopaths and insane people among them, for one thing, and for another they only have control of a single element like fire or water. They can't do abstract things like bring luck or curse someone. That's magic. That's where your people shine." Gene grabbed a jar of something that looked suspiciously like blood, and Rhodey tried not to gag as he handed the black teen a shopping basket. "Here, carry this for me, will you? Thanks." He ignored the grossed out expression on his friend's face as he placed a fish skeleton marked at half off into the basket. "Unfortunately magic has rules, and the only reason I didn't lose mine for telling SHIELD is because Enbish and Terbish are letting me keep it. Otherwise I'd probably have been struck dead. It's happened, you know, or at least, that's what they say. You tell the normals everything and the next thing you know you spontaneously combust."

"And what do green, sparkly rocks have to do with your immortal soul?" Rhodey was still lost, although things were slowly beginning to make a little more sense.

"I crossed a lot of lines. I have to make up for it. Lots of blessings for people who aren't me will help, lots of good energy towards the general masses, and I'll probably put up every magical guard I can around the house, so that it's obvious I'm at least trying not to go to the pit of darkness." He tried to make it sound like it was no big deal, but Gene hadn't been able to muster up his cool guy apathy for days now. Every word he spoke resounded with defeat and resignation instead.

"The pit of what?"

Gene's face fell. "It's where traitors go. Everything's dark and silent. There's nothing there, no one to hurt, and you drift through it forever and ever until the end of time. What I've done is treason. I wasn't thinking it through. But I just… I can't lose anymore people, Rhodey. I'm not like you and Tony, I don't cope well with this stuff. I'm weak. So I told them everything I know. Now I have to earn back my soul piece by piece, pay back the universe for my sins. It's complicated."

"It's insane." Rhodey gave him a look that told him that the other boy was in full mother hen mode. "You're telling me that for trying to end a big complicated civil war among your people, you're going to rot in a void for all eternity?"

The Mongolian boy nodded, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes as he did so. He brushed it back habitually, and looked at the basket for a moment before apparently deciding they had enough for his various myriad activities. The dim lighting and incense were giving Rhodey a headache, too, though it might've been the simple absurdity of the magic religion. He sighed, watching his friend look over a selection of luck talismans with uncharacteristic seriousness. Gene wasn't nearly as light hearted as he used to be. Maybe it was that part of it was an act, and he'd always felt like this, but if anything that made it worse. No one should have to go through all this on his own. Gene, though, was stubborn enough to try acting as if he were completely okay in front of everyone at all times. Only someone who lived with him and watched closely could see the stress showing through on the taller boy's face. His eyes had rings under them, he was getting thinner all the time and he was out an awful lot at night. To say Rhodey was worried was an understatement. Add in this religious mumbo jumbo and he was seriously contemplating calling some kind of help hotline on Gene's behalf. He wondered if Gene really believed all of this stuff, or if it was just some desperate attempt to cling to Narangerel's religion in her absence.

"You need one of these," Gene stated flatly, looking at the good luck charms. "And no arguing, Rhodes. You play team mom to Tony and I constantly. You deserve something nice. Maybe it'll be a conversation piece and you'll get a girlfriend."

"No good luck charm is that powerful," Rhodey said with a sigh. "Nobody wants the history nerd. But I appreciate the offer."

"Take one anyway, Rhodey. I already tricked your mom into one and Tony… Tony doesn't exactly need luck with women right now." Under his breath, Gene added, "I can't believe that he's going to The Daily Show with Ms. Asaji… he wonders where people get the idea they're dating from…"

"Tony's oblivious like that. It's a gift of his." He scanned the rows of various rocks, gems and random bundles. "That blue stone. I want that. It's just… it's way cooler than anything else here." He saw the price tag and winced. "I'll pay you back once we get home."

"No need. Tony and I are richer than most foreign countries, remember?" There was a hint of the old snarky man Rhodey used to hang out with in Gene's voice. It was immediately replaced with Gene's newfound constant companion, bitterness. "Not that it's helped us any. "

Rhodey sighed, but he knew better than to keep emotionally reaching out to Gene. He kept trying and the other boy kept growing more and more strange and depressed.

Some people just wouldn't be helped.

Gene began having nightmares.

He saw his mother, her black hair undone and wild, blood and filth caking her, screaming as she was overtaken by monsters he could not fight. All the power of the Rings could not save her. She died pleading for him to do something. Her blood was bright as the sunset, eyes shining like gems as her pale hands reached out for him, desperate and dying. He awoke in a cold sweat every time. Going back to sleep would only mean more nightmares. Sometimes it was Shuri who was dying, her own power eating her, killing her, and he couldn't shake her out of it. Her tears were icy and stuck to her cheeks as she took him down with her. She was so young, so alone, that he couldn't leave her even as he knew the fight was lost. Worst of all were the nightmares of Talahamir and his flames eating away at Rhodey, whose anguished gasps of pain haunted Gene every time he laid his head down on the pillow. He saw the dark flesh pop and sizzle, red blossoming forth and pain breaking through all sentient thought, watched in horror as Rhodey dropped to the floor, unable to keep living in the face of the madness. He dreamed of Roberta, lost somewhere in a labyrinth with a monster who always found her before he could. He dreamed of Tony's lifeless body sprawled out in front of him. He could never wake Tony up.

Enbish and Terbish were making matters worse, talking, always criticizing. Not good enough, not honorable enough, shameless, traitor, liar, deceiver, whispered Enbish, angry and getting angrier. He had been a handsome man in life, a face shaped like a heart, hair that was black yet gold in the sunlight, eyes like bistre flames that could tear a man apart in minutes. Terbish was worse, though, a scholar who was weak and thin, sickly, childish with his big dark gray eyes and perpetually messy hair. His voice was always in Gene's ear trying to make him laugh, which was what made it so hard when someone so light became so dark and depressed. Try harder, people are dying, they need you out there, everyone is in danger, need to do more, this isn't as important as the big picture, Terbish begged him. The voices were constant presences in his life. They were making it hard just to be alive. But they were right. He was failing. He wasn't doing enough. He needed all the Rings to do this, to make the world a better place, because what he was doing right now hadn't even made a dent in the crime rate in New York City let alone the world. All the information he'd given Nick Fury hadn't been enough to stop the world from falling apart.

"Going through this life, looking for angels, people passing by, looking for angels…"

Ugh, Pepper and that stupid MP3 player of hers. He hated it when she sang at lunch. Unfortunately, when he'd tried to go eat on the roof where things were less crazy he'd found that spot occupied by Ms. Asaji and Tony. They were engrossed in their discussion about a new strain of rabies that was spreading throughout Africa and the response varying governments. Best not to interrupt them. This was how he found himself sandwiched between Happy Hogan and Pepper. Happy was his usual cheerful if oblivious self, pleased to have gotten into a cool school with lots of cute girls. Gene might have remarked, 'for certain values of cute' if he'd only had the motivation within him to do so. Lately he just wanted to ditch this life altogether and work on finding the Rings. Iron Man had stolen a shipment of green psitanium that was the only know cure for two specific kinds of cancer. Most of the patients were not going to make it to the next shipment. Life was spiraling downward and Gene was about ready to snap.

And the worst part was that his mundane life, life at school, should have been making him happy. He had friends, didn't he? He had passing grades and there was a girl in his science class with a crush on him. He should've been happy. So why did he just want to stop existing? He wanted to leave this all behind and be nothing more than Altanbaatar. Altanbaatar didn't have friends who could be put in danger or people who meant something to him personally. Gene Stark was worthless, a washed out nobody who used to be famous and popular in a life that barely seemed like it could've been his anymore. Gene Stark had confidence, style, was always ready to make jokes, had no problems whatsoever beyond who to ask to the dance. He wasn't that person anymore. He was at a table with geeks, losers, cool losers like Pepper, and Happy, who was oblivious to high school cliques and etiquette. How had his life flipped upside down like this so rapidly?

"I heard there's an angel here in New York!" Happy chirped excitedly. "He's blond and he's got white wings. He saved a bunch of people from the Gray Gang!"

"That's not true," Gene said dismissively, prodding at his lunch disinterestedly. He'd gulped down his milk and then withdrawn into his own thoughts. Pepper gave him a strange look.

"Gosh, Gene, you sure are negative lately. What makes you think there couldn't be angels? I mean, we live in such a weird world as it is that if anything this seems way more normal than half the stuff I read on my dad's hard drive…" Pepper said it all in one breath. That was impressive and disturbing at the same time. How did anyone manage to have that much energy all the time?

"Nothing good like that ever happens. It always turns out to be a hoax. Anything too good to be true is, Potts," he replied, dully poking at his sandwich. "Besides, mythology about winged people is old and from all over the world. He could be a bunch of different things. Did anyone get a really clear look at his wings, enough to tell the radius and the density of the feathers? That's the telling factor."

"Oh oh oh!" the flame haired girl gasped suddenly. "What if he's an angel with wings who's trying to study human behavior? I read this one book-"

Gene tuned her out. He just watched her, her boundless energy and enthusiasm. She was full of life, truly alive and filled with potential. She could be anything she wanted to be, he was sure of it. If most people attempted anything with half her energy they'd see immediate improvement. Yet she was still in the city of insanity and danger, the place where everything that could go wrong did – New York City. When monsters attacked, elementals went insane or gangs formed it was always in this place. New York City had untold opportunities and equal if not greater amounts of sorrow and senseless violence, criminals, madmen, sadistic bullies on every level. He thought of Talahamir, of the flames so hot they were blue. Would Pepper ever get to see her dreams come true, graduate high school and go off to do something in criminal justice? Would Happy ever get to be a pro basketball star like he wanted? Or would all these dealings in psitanium and toxic materials kill the public, including them, the innocent bystanders who didn't know what hit them? Would they one day be charred skeletons in their coffins, struck down in their prime by a pyrokinetic who their lives were worth less than nothing to in his eyes? He wanted to know everything would be alright, that Pepper would get her criminal justice degree and the kickboxing lessons she was so keen on and become a SHIELD agent. One day he wanted to see her in uniform doing what she loved. She'd make a good jetpack pilot. And one day he wanted to turn on the TV and see everyone talking about Happy, the last good jock on the planet.

He wanted to believe in angels, too.

But what he wanted and what reality was were very different things.

There were some phone calls that Gene knew from the onset were going to be bad news.

This included pretty much every phone call his brother had ever made to him, private cell phone to private cell phone. If Tony was calling from home or someone else's house it wouldn't be bad. If Tony was on his phone and was calling the Rhodes' house number it'd be fine. The problems in life only occurred in a direct connection. A direct connection meant Super Toaster had gone critical and breadcrumbs were now raining down upon the Earth or that llamas were parading through the lobby of Stark International and the employees were panicking. When Tony vanished for a class period Gene thought he might be skipping. Instead he got the dreaded phone call, and groaned, sinking down into his seat. This was not going to be good.

"Mister Stark, I remind you that cell phones are not allowed in class unless it's an emergency," Ms. Asaji said, with no real malice in her voice. If anything, there was concern in her teal eyes. "However, I do remember the office saying something about your paperwork being incorrect, so it could just be they dialed what they thought was your home number and got you instead."

"No such luck. It's Tony. Ma'am, I really need to take this, may I be excused?" Gene asked with his best 'I am in no way freaking out I can totally handle this' face.

"Yes you may. Just be sure to come back in and grab your things if you need to leave," she added kindly, turning back to her lecture. "Now, who here can tell me the language of majority in Wakanda? This is going to be on your test, people."

"Tony, what-"

"You have to come get me! Iron Man is high and he's attacking the book store on Fillmore Avenue!"

There was a pause as Gene processed these two sentences, the first mundane and the second sounding like a bad very special episode of a TV show. "Anthony Edward Stark, if this is a prank I swear I'm going to-"

A huge booming noise sounded in the background, followed by screams and the sound of someone yelling 'get down'. Tony's voice was low and desperate. "This isn't a prank. He's all hopped up on psitanium and I can't even make sense of what he's saying and – there's a lot of people here, we can't get past him, he's blocking the door. Please, please come kick his butt? I never ask you for anything! You can borrow my laser weasel!"

It amazed Gene how much like a whining child his brother could sound like. "I'm on it – wait, didn't SHIELD tell you to terminate all the laser weasels? I mean, after the whole debacle at the White House Correspondent's Dinner-"

"We can talk about it later!" Tony half-shouted, growing angry. "And I said I was sorry about that!"

As he hung up, Gene wasn't sure whether to laugh or groan in sheer frustration. He settled for both a smile and a sigh as he teleported away, wondering vaguely what the heck you fed a weasel with laser eyes and how one would go about taking it to the vet. Whatever. He'd let Tony explain the existence of the weaponized animal to Roberta. This was not his problem and quite frankly the surrealism of having to fight Iron Man while he was high was still sinking in. At least that explains where the psitanium is going, Terbish quipped helpfully. You youth and your drugs. Your ancestors just dabbled in opium from time to time, and we thought that was great. But no, your generation had to come up with super drugs and intravenously injected alcohol, because milk-win and opium just aren't good enough- Gene tuned him out after this point, partially since he didn't need a distraction and partially since there was no arguing with eight hundred year old spirits about the modern world. They'd either whine that they were his elders and should be respected or they'd be confused what everyday objects were. Thankfully he just needed their power, not their technological prowess.

It took five teleports to find his way to the book store, at which point he was immediately knocked off his feet and found himself suspended in mid-air, deel clutched tightly in Iron Man's hands. His ragged breathing could be heard through the metal of his armor.

"Who are you?" Iron Man roared. "I know you, I know I do! Talk, you Assassin's Creed wannabe!"

Altanbaatar raised his hand and fired a blast that dislodged him from his opponent's grip. In a flash he was on a nearby rooftop, firing off blasts of energy at his red and gold target. Though the blasts hit and were doing damage, Iron Man simple turned and watched him with remarkable calm. Occasionally his legs or arms would give the telltale violent twitch of a psitanium high, as if the breathing weren't an obvious giveaway. In a flash, the metal man dove at the white clad hero, who only just managed to jump out of the way allowing Iron Man to crash into the asphalt. He skidded on the rooftop before rounding with superhuman reflexes and pouncing on Altanbaatar, grip steely and harsh on the man's shoulders as they slammed into the ground. Gene swore he could feel the bruises forming under the vicegrip his opponent had on him, but there was no time to move or think, just teleport. Before he could even take in where he'd landed, Iron Man was crashing into him again, throwing him to the ground with dizzying strength. He was just struggling to get up when a hand gripped his deel and yanked him back so hard it took his breath away. He found himself eye to eye with Iron Man. His head was hurting, his knees were practically on fire with pain, and his nose was bleeding, and all he could think was that he couldn't let his identity be compromised or he'd lose everyone he had left.

He raised his arms and blasted at Iron Man's face, knowing the eyes were the armor's weak point, and he didn't care if he killed the other man in the process. He didn't care if the heat baked the human under the red and gold alive. He would not let any harm come to the people he had left. Innocent human beings were in the balance, civilians, mothers, fathers, people with families and friends, whose death would create voids that could never be filled. Did Iron Man have a family? Friends? Probably, but he was a cruel and callous man. He needed to be stopped. One life versus hundreds, potentially thousands in the long run. It wasn't a hard choice to make; it wasn't even a conscious decision. Altanbaatar raised his hand and let the energy flow out of the Rings and into the target, unaware of the world outside this one moment. He heard a scream, not realizing it was Iron Man's, and he heard someone in the background yell for him to stop. He didn't. Iron Man had to fly away to avoid the concentrated beam. His jets were incredibly fast even though his armor couldn't possibly be at full power after that blow.

Altanbaatar crashed into him, teleporting onto the unsuspecting and surprised thief, who tumbled off course and into the ground. They left a skid mark forty feet long and nearly six inches deep. The impact made Gene want to hurl, if he'd only had enough lunch to do so. All that mattered, though, was that he seemed to have knocked Iron Man unconscious. He raised his right hand, Rings glowing.

"It's time to end this," Gene whispered grimly. "Uuchlaarai, Iron Man."