The Dance of Freya || Alternate Ending || An Avengers Fan-Fiction

*THIS IS NOT THE FIRST BOOK*
*THIS IS NOT THE SECOND BOOK*
(this is an alternate ending for the second book)


So, I guess if you're reading this, then you've already read the other two. If you haven't, then you'd better go back and read them, mate!

It's been a while, and I was kind of stuck on my book, Fallen Stars, which some of you have read. I'm rewriting it because the first version was terrible, let me tell ya. Anyway, since I was stuck on that, I decided to read over The Dance of Freya, which is my second Avengers fan-fic. Now, whilst I read over all of that, I came to the realisation that in most stories, the villains never get very far in their plans. Well, I was going to change that, but still not let the villain win. So, here is the alternate ending for The Dance of Freya. If you need to, go back and read over the actual fan-fiction before reading this. 

Anyway, here we go. 

The Dance of Freya

Warnings: Blood

“One of you will die today,” Agent Cotton’s voice breaks the silence, and I look up. Standing before me is Pietro, and beside him is Cotton. She smiles, crossing her arms. Pietro sighs, and she steps away. In his hand is a gun, and he raises it, a deep glare set on his face. I gasp, and look at Cotton. She nods, and Pietro moves both hands to hold the gun. 

   “What--” I feel tears rise to my eyes. 

   “Will you let your husband kill you,” Cotton says, “and have to live with it the rest of his life, or will you kill him, and leave the guilt to yourself?” She chuckles, and I bite my lip, my vision blurring. My shaking hands raise the gun, and I aim it. 

   “Pietro,” I say, but he only furrows his brow. I look around frantically, but find that we are alone. I want to say something to him, something that may calm him down or make him remember what he is doing. “Pietro, remember-- remember at the Avengers’ tower? You said-- you said this would never happen!” I feel a tear run down my face, but his expression never changes. I realise that he is under no spell-- that he is doing this on his own accord.

   “This is your fault,” he says in a low tone. He shakes his head. “It’s always your fault! Why don’t you ever do what you’re told? You’re always so careless.” He sighs, and I gape at these words. 

   “I don’t want to do this,” I reply, raising my hand in defence. “Darling, you know I don’t want to, don’t make me!” I stifle a sob, shaking to hold it in. My heartbeat quickens, and the look on his face frightens me. “Please,” I whisper repeatedly, shaking my head. But he moves his finger to the trigger. 

   To my surprise I fire my gun first, crying out loudly when the bullet hits him. He gasps, looking down at the wound in his stomach. Crimson blood immediately spills out, covering his abdomen. He falls forward, first to his knees. There, he looks at me with utter disgust and betrayal. Then his expression changes to fear and to pain, and he falls to his side, all emotion draining from his eyes. He lays asleep in a puddle of his own blood that now spreads out all around me like a flood. It rises and falls, and screams fill the air. I cover my ears with my hands and fall down, crying to make the voices go away. 

   Somehow I had fallen asleep, and I wake the next morning to a surprise. The three of us are inside a tent, all with our hands bound and tied to a post. I rolled my eyes, and leaned my head back. A bitter breeze blows inside, as the tent door opens, and Freya walks in with a smug expression on her face. 

   “I don’t know why the lot of you remain on this island,” she says, crossing her arms. “You’ll all be dead before you know it.”

   “Sooner better than later,” I reply sharply. She laughs, and shakes her head slightly. I feel anger stirring inside of me, and my heartbeat quickens. I feel weak, as I always do when I’m extremely upset, and my hands begin to shake. 

   “My men found the three of you in your little camp,” she goes on. “You weren’t doing a very well job of hiding. They saw your fire from a mile away.” 

   “For your information,” I snap. “We weren’t trying to hid. We were waiting for someone, who I haven’t seen since yesterday morning.”

   “Oh,” she looks jokingly surprised. “So now you’re so called friends are leaving you, eh?” She laughs again, and I roll my eyes, clenching my fists. I look down, gritting my teeth together. She turns, and moves part of the door away, motioning with her hand. Then she steps further inside, and the Avengers walk in, including Hawkeye, Bruce Banner, and, to my surprise, Loki. 

   They all file inside, and stand around her. I notice that Loki isn’t watching her as the others are. He is staring at me, and when I make eye contact, he winks, and my heart jumps. There is hope for us yet. I clench my jaw though, still angry at Freya for her cruel actions towards Pietro. 

   She folds her hands in front of her, turning to me. 

   “Now, I have all of your Avengers,” she smiles. “They’ll kill each other and not even know what they’re doing. And then,” she laughs smugly. “I’ll make them kill the ones they love.” I know what she is talking about, and I look over at Pietro, who’s head is now hung. 

   Freya waves her hand, and the tent that we are in is thrown away, including the post that the three of us are tied to. She kneels beside us, and, taking the knife from my belt, and cuts our ropes. Then she stands, backing away, and turns to the Avengers.

   “Oh, I can’t have all of you,” she sighs sadly at them, and they all turn to her. “I suppose the last one standing wins?” For a moment, they are unaware of what she is speaking of, then they realise, and spread out. Freya motions to her guards and soldiers. “You lot join in. I don’t want any of them to live.”

   For a while, the Avengers are silent, and do naught but stare at each other. Snow begins to fall, and I stand, taking up my knife. Wanda and Natasha have woken now, and they stand, also. 

   “You know,” Steve speaks up. “I’m sure all Freya wants is me, so y’all can just leave, and no one will have to get hurt.”

   “No, man,” Sam says, stepping forward. “You ain’t seen the way she looks at me. I’m the one she’s craving, so the lot of you can just leave her to me.” With those words being said, the rest of the Avengers join in, and for a while, it is just arguing. Then, of course, Tony throws the first punch, and they all begin to fight with one another. 

   After a time passes, Freya’s soldiers are drawn in, and it becomes more of a battle. I jump in, taking on one of her warriors, using only my knife. Occasionally, I’ll use my gun, but I rather use the knife because I’m not very good at aiming. I suppose it is just like aiming a bow, which I had been trained mainly with at HYDRA. 

   I try to avoid killing any of the guards, so I only knock them unconscious. I’ll leave the killing to the Avengers. They do it better than I ever could, so I stick to my original plan. 

   As the battle progresses, we spread out further, seeing there are more of Freya’s soldiers than our own, and I am taken with two upon one of the nearby cliffs. The snow sifts under our feet, and some of it slides over the edge, falling down several kilometres, onto the rocks below the cliff. They send the message that if I was to fall, surely I would die. With that thought, I try and stay on the side opposite the edge, and keep those I fight closer to it than I. 

   I duck under one of their swords which they swing at me, and I am thankful for all the training at HYDRA, though the circumstances could have been better. But shoving such thoughts aside, I continue to fight, glancing down at the battle scene below me. As another of Freya’s guards approaches Pietro, I quickly draw my pistol and fire it at him. Though it misses, he looks up, and hurries away from his target, now running to me. 

   I sigh exasperatedly, seeing as I already have three of her soldiers up her with me. With a swing of my knife, I send one of them staggering backwards, and I give him a kick in the stomach, which pushes him off of the cliff. I look to the others, which are now three again. They all run at me at once, which was not the best for them, and they crash into each other, and one of them follows the first off the cliff. I give a chuckle to the remaining two, and they come at me, though careful to keep their distance from one another. 

   I swing my knife at one, but the other grabs my arm, holding my wrist so tightly that I drop my weapon, and it sinks beneath a layer of the snow. I grunt and kick at the one before me, and he jumps back. He swings his sword at me, but I duck. The blade slices the soldier behind me, and also my arm. But when the one behind me fell, I had just enough time to move my arm so that it is not a severe wound. Still, I cry out, glancing at the blood that immediately flows from the cut. 

   I take up the other soldier’s sword, and swing it wildly at the remaining warrior, and he moves back, laughing at my unbalance. I sigh, realising that the weapon is much heavier than I figured it would be. But, I take it up again, and block his swing. 

   Holding the sword with both hands, I am careful to even out the weight better, and I swing again, this time just barely missing him. He grows angry and runs at me again. But I crouch down when he jumps at me, and the sword in my hands sticks through him, and I scream softly at the sight. I drop both the soldier and the sword over the side of the cliff, and begin to look around for my knife. I wince at the pain in my arm, and I gather some snow in my hand and press it against the wound, watching as the red of my blood spread through it’s white. 

   I find my knife, and take it up, sliding it back into my belt. I sit down and watch the events happening below me. I drop the snowball I had held against my wound, and replace it with another fresh one. I wince at the cold, and slump my shoulders. 

   For a couple of years I hadn’t fought at all, and the small brawl with the four soldiers has worn me out. I sigh, watching the snow fall around me.

   I look out over the edge of the cliff, watching the scene below me. Several of Freya’s guards are down, staining the snow under them red. I see, also, Thor, lying wounded. Loki is near him, in a duel with Tony, who seems to have the upper hand. They are struggling, but Loki is weakening under the strength of the metal suit. I sigh, and move to descend the slope from the cliff, wanting to help him. When I reach the bottom of the hill, I take the sword protruding from one of the soldiers’ abdomen, and bring it with me. 

   I realise now, that I cannot do anything against Tony, so I look around for another in need of aid. A group of warriors surround Clint, so I move to help him. One turns to me, and I swing the sword in my hands. He is skilled though, and blocks it with his own, knocking me back. I stagger, then regain my balance. He laughs, and I, tired of their mockery, wildly fling the sword at him, and it hits his helm. This sends him to the ground unconscious, and I turn to see that Clint has fought away all the others. He nods his thanks to me, and I hurry away. 

   I approach Tony, who is alone now, lying on the ground. I kneel beside him, check his pulse. He’s alive, and I stand again, looking around. But where has Loki gone? Why does he always disappear. Sighing in frustration, I move away from their, scanning the grounds. 

   The sound of gunfire catches my attention, and I hurry towards it. But when I arrive there, I stop in my tracks at the sight. Steve, standing, aims his gun at Sam, who wears an angry expression. Half a dozen of Freya’s guards lay scattered in the snow, and now Steve fires the gun-- once, twice. 

   “Steve, no!” I shout, but again he shoots, and Sam falls to his knees, his armour pierced. With a slight grunt, he falls forward into the snow, and then Steve turns to me. Frightened, I run from there, flinching at the sounds of bullets chasing me. But to my surprise, nothing happens. I stop, and turn around. 

   There is a blue flash, and Steve is knocked down, now under Pietro, who hits him repeatedly until he is unconscious. Then he stands and runs away. I blink, and leave there, slowly trudging through the snow. The cut in my arm aches, but I try to pay this as little attention as possible. As new snow begins to fall, I examine my surroundings. Then something catches my eye, and I hurry to it. 

   When I stop, what is before me makes my stomach lurch. I cover my mouth, tears rising to my eyes. Wanda lies face down in the snow, surrounded by piles of Freya’s soldiers. Also Vision is beside her, his hand covering hers and eyes closed. Wanda’s blood is frozen under her, and I look away. The sight makes me sick, and I stumble, looking around for Pietro. Surely he must be somewhere. 

   Then I see something that makes my heart jump. Just behind a rock near Wanda’s feet where the pair of running shoes lined with bright green. I gulp, stagger towards them, and move around the stone. 

There he lay, blood staining his shirt a crimson red. I gasp.

   “Pietro!” I breathe, falling to my knees beside him. His eyelids flutter, and open. He sighs, turns to me. I grasp his hand, stained of his own blood, but his grip falters. His face is bruised and bloodied, as if he’d been beaten against the rock he lays behind.

   “W-Wanda,” he coughed, groaning slightly. “Did-- did I save my sister?” I glance to the other side of the stone, then back at Pietro. I see his injuries are fatal, I cannot let him think he failed. I nod. 

   “She’s okay,” I say. “She’s not hurt. Listen, I need you to stay awake for me--” My voice breaks, and I inhale sharply. “And stay… here.” I choke back a sob, and he reaches up to touch my face. His hand is so cold. 

   “I’m going to die again, aren’t I?” He trembles violently, a tear trickling down his face, freezing before it even hits the ground. I shake my head, but he knows I am lying, and turns away, throwing himself into a coughing fit. Once he calms, I wipe the blood from his lips. He groans slightly, wrinkling his nose in his pain. I can’t help but cry silently now, the fear of his death gripping my heart tightly. I straighten, making up my mind. 

   “I have to do something, Pietro,” I say, but he looks to me, and the horror in his eyes makes me tense. 

   “Don’t leave me,” he pleads, and I kiss his forehead, feeling him calm slightly. 

   “I won’t,” I reply, standing. “There’s just something I must do.” I let go of his hand, and back away. He watches as I run from there, the blood under him pooling. 

   I make my way further into the battle, looking to discover the fate of the other Avengers. I see Hawkeye still fighting strong, and Natasha, also. Stark is still unconscious, and Bruce Banner is nowhere to be found. I cannot see Loki, either, but still I hurry on, trudging swiftly through the snow, paying no attention to the cold of my legs. 

   Taking my gun from it’s holster, I raise it, aiming it at the dark haired witch’s silhouette in her tent. I pull the trigger forcefully, but, blinded by my tears, the bullet misses, just ripping a hole in the white fabric. Freya gasps, and before I can do anything, an invisible force throws me backwards, burying me in the snow. I close my eyes tightly, feeling the sting of cold on my face. Then I stand, shaking the ice from my hair, and climbing out. Freya has disappeared, and I scan the area for her. 

   There! I see her running, swift, as her feet do not sink into the snow. I run after her, staggering several times at the snow’s wont to hinder me. But I make my way well enough, and reach her just as she reaches Pietro. She kneels beside him, examining his wounds. 

   Deafly, I shout an insult which brings her head up, and she glares at me. I run and throw myself over Pietro, slamming into Freya and knocking her into the snow. A chill runs up my spine as I draw my gun again, standing. She lays there stunned, and I stand between her and my husband. She laughs, stands. I aim my gun, resting my finger on the trigger. 

   “Leave him alone,” I say, steadying my grip. I widen my stance, blinking away fresh tears that rise. 

  “Never,” she says, and flicks her wrist. I feel a sharp pain in my side, and hear the gun go off, though muffled. Her scream is silent as she falls back, a crimson stain covering her dress. The ground rises up to meet me, and everything fades to black. 

   When I wake, I groan softly, feeling the pain still in my side. But I push myself to sit, paying little attention to the red snow beside me. Brushing the hair from my face, I turn to face Pietro. He’s very pale, and his eyes, though half-open, are losing their light. 

   “No,” I breath, moving beside him. His lips, pressed tight in a thin line, are bright red, and he turns his head only slightly to look at me. To my surprise, he gives a small smile. But I cannot return it, as tears begin to run down my face, and I don’t even try to hold them back. A sickened feeling still wrestles in my stomach, and I gently set my hand on his chest. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m so sorry.” He nods, just barely, and swallows hard. 

   “It--” he pauses, grunting slightly. “It isn’t your f-fault, love. I-- I had to save you.” I, confused, furrow my brow. He continues after a quivering sigh. “It was-- Rogers was going to shoot you, and I-- I didn’t want him to hurt you.” I gasp, realising what he was speaking about. He nods, knowing that I understand. 

   “Pietro--” I whisper, touching the side of his face. 

   “I-- I’m sorry… I can’t-- can’t--” he stops, his eyelids flutter. “Look after you n-now. Can’t give you a family… nothing.” I shake my head, stroking his hair back from his face. He trembles, and takes my hand, holding it tight. Then he closes his eyes, and I let myself cry, calling down beside him. 

   Soon a helicarrier lands on the island, and S. H. I. E. L. D. agents flood out, taking those in medical need, and also the fallen, and loading them inside. I watch in helpless horror as they take Pietro away, his blood staining the stretcher. His hand falls limp over the frame, and his eyes remain closed. 

   He’s dead, I tell myself, shaking my head. A medic slides a blanket around my shoulder, leading me back to the helicarrier. He tells me that I am injured, and require medical attention. But I pay no attention to this, instead stare at Pietro’s body. Once I am inside, they sit me down, and walk away. I press my knuckles against my lips and sigh shakily. 

   We lift off, and fly away from the island. I keep my gaze fixed on Pietro, hardly noticing how fast we are going. In less that five minutes, we are in Manhattan, and the helicarrier lands on the Avengers’ tower helipad, and the engine turns off. The injured are taken to the hospital wing, three stories down. The glass turns black, and I walk out in a daze, glancing around at the city. The medics want to bring me with the other wounded, and I follow them down to the hospital wing.  

   They lay me on one of the beds, and I hardly realise what they are doing to me. I pay no attention to the pain, staring at the ceiling. They talk with muffled voices, the ringing in my ears drowning out all other sounds. I close my eyes. 

   The next several days I stay there in the hospital wing, until I am released, and I return to my room. The bed isn’t made-- just as it was when we left that morning. I sigh, and walk to the bathroom. 

   After a hot shower, I dress in a pair of shorts and one of Pietro’s sweatshirts. I slide my hands into the pockets, and walk downstairs. I walk to the window and look out, pressing my hands against the tinted glass. 

   That night I sleep alone, tossing and turning and keeping a continuous eye on the alarm clock. The hours drag by, and so I slide out of bed at eleven-thirteen, and walk out of the room. My bare feet make no noise on the smooth floor beneath me, and I make my way down three staircases to the floor on which the hospital wing is located. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and walk inside the door numbered 003. The lights are off, and there is a steady beeping sound of the heart monitor. I gasp, and walk slowly in, sitting down next to the bed herein. 

   Then he stirs, and turns his head. 

   “Zoë?” He mutters, exhaling softly through his nose. He reaches out and takes my hand, closing it in both of his. I sigh, feeling tears well up in my eyes. I blink and they fall down my face, splashing onto my shirt. “What’s wrong, love?” He asks, and I inhale shakily. 

   “I thought you died,” I manage to say, hardly able to choke back the tears.

   “Hey,” he whispers, reaching up to wipe away my tears. “It’s alright. It’s alright.”

   “I was so scared,” I whimper.

   “Zoë,” he says with a sigh. I try to smile, but find I can’t. Instead, I look down at my shaking hands. He reaches up and strokes the side of my face with his thumb. “It’s okay.” I raise my gaze to meet his, blinking away the tears now trailing down my face. 

   “Can I get in with you?” I ask, and he pushes himself up slightly. 

   “Yeah,” he groans, moving over to one side of the bed. “There’s room for two.” I give a slight smile and slide in beside him, pulling the covers up to my chest. He lays back, and I do the same. He slips his arm around me, and I snuggle against him, listening to his uneven breathing.

   “Do you know who all made it?” I ask quietly, and he sighs. 

   “I think Barton did,” he replied. “Natasha did, Stark, Thor and his brother, and Rogers. I think that’s all.” I cringe when his voice breaks, realising that he knows I lied to him about Wanda.

   “I’m sorry.” I say, and he glances down at me pressing a kiss against my forehead. I exhale softly, the fear of him dying now leaves me. I set my hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat under his skin. I close my eyes, and he sighs against my hair. 

   “I love you, you know,” he whispers, and I nod.

   “I love you, too.”

Well, that was tragic, was it not?

I was going to 'eliminate' some of the other Avengers, and originally, I had 'eliminated' Thor, but my sister, Megan, could not have that. 

So I kept him alive.

And I kept Hawkeye alive because he is her favourite, and I can't do that to her, so he's alive

Tony... I love Tony, so of course I wouldn't kill him.

And Natasha is just too bad*** to die, so yeah

I wanted to 'eliminate' Steve, but Megan likes him, too, and her heart was already crushed (Longmire) so I didn't want to shatter it all the more. 

I'm really a nice person ;)

So there, I hope all of you enjoyed it.

~Madeline <3