Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

"So," Evenson said with an easy smile, "you seem pretty interested in my car. Want to take it for a spin? Special discount today. Half price. Ten bucks."

Despite already having a strong suspicion about the man’s identity, he played the part of a stranger.

The visitor chuckled, his eyes lingering on the battered convertible with a strangely satisfied expression.

"I’ll pass. Last time I rode in that car, I slept for a very... very long time."

That settled it.

There was only one person who could say that.

Evenson’s eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly.

"You’ve ridden in this car before?" he asked, feigning surprise. "May I ask your name?"

The man extended his hand.

"Steve Rogers."

Evenson accepted the handshake.

"It’s an honor to meet you..."

He widened his eyes just enough to sell the performance.

"...Captain America."

Now it was Steve’s turn to blink.

"You’re that certain? Steve Rogers isn’t exactly an uncommon name."

"I’ve seen the propaganda posters." Evenson lightly patted the convertible beside him. "The artwork wasn’t flattering, but you still resemble the guy by about eighty percent."

He grinned.

"And honestly? I can’t think of anyone else who’d look at this car with that particular mix of nostalgia, resentment, and trauma."

Steve let out a slow breath.

"...Fair enough."

His gaze drifted back to the vehicle.

"I had... history... with its previous owner."

His expression darkened before he forced himself back to the present.

"But according to every official record..." he said, looking back at Evenson, "...I’ve been dead for over sixty years."

"That’s true."

Evenson gestured toward the shop.

"But once you eliminate every impossible explanation, the remaining one tends to be surprisingly convincing."

Steve followed him inside.

"That’s still a stretch," he replied.

He looked around the shop before adding,

"I’d sooner believe some mysterious magical method identified me..."

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"...Advisor Richter."

"So you know who I am."

Evenson wasn’t particularly surprised.

"Did Nick Fury tell you?"

He raised his voice toward the back.

"Sarah! Two coffees!"

A moment later Sarah appeared carrying two glasses...

...of water.

Evenson stared.

"I distinctly requested coffee."

"We’re out."

Her voice was as flat as a frozen lake.

"And don’t ask why. You already know."

"I left money before I went on my trip."

He accepted the glass with obvious disappointment.

"Don’t tell me you somehow burned through all of it."

He would swear on a Warlock’s soul that he’d left enough money to keep everyone fed for quite a while.

Crack.

Sarah crushed the drinking glass in her bare hand.

Water spilled across the floor.

"You left money," she said through clenched teeth.

"In online banking."

"So?"

Evenson took a sip of water anyway.

"Everyone uses online banking these days..."

He froze.

"...Oh, hell."

There was only one creature in the entire shop capable of figuring out account passwords through persistence, curiosity, and shameless determination.

"Hobbes?"

Sarah’s eye twitched.

"Exactly."

Her voice dripped with murderous resentment.

"The second you left, that mutt got into the account and ordered premium luxury dog food."

She held up two fingers.

"Half the money disappeared overnight."

Evenson silently thanked every demon in the Twisting Nether for maintaining two separate bank accounts.

The larger one wasn’t connected to online banking at all.

"Please tell me you didn’t let him get away with it."

He looked around.

"...Actually, where is he?"

His expression became suspicious.

"You didn’t... cook him, did you?"

Sarah actually smiled.

It wasn’t a comforting smile.

"No."

"We tied him up."

"Then we piled every single bag of gourmet dog food in front of him..."

"...and burned it."

Her grin widened as she remembered Hobbes’ expression.

The dog had stared into the flames with the hollow despair of someone watching an entire future vanish.

It had apparently been glorious.

Evenson sighed.

"That wasn’t very economical."

Sarah frowned.

"What?"

"You should’ve resold the food."

He spread his hands.

"You could’ve recovered at least sixty percent of the loss."

"...Anger isn’t known for producing sound financial decisions."

Sarah rubbed her forehead.

"We realized that afterward."

"So everyone’s gone out to earn money instead."

Evenson nearly dropped his glass.

"They’re... working?"

Sarah looked at him as though the question itself were insulting.

"Why wouldn’t they?"

She counted on her fingers.

"Hobbes has the easiest job. He acts adorable, people feed him, and if some idiot tries to steal him, he usually manages to scam compensation out of them."

"...He’s basically self-employed."

"And Taylor, Doorman, and Tripsy?"

"They’re doing street performances."

Evenson frowned.

"Street performances?"

Sarah nodded.

"’Breaking Stones on the Chest.’"

For a second, Evenson’s imagination betrayed him.

He pictured the massive Felguard Taylor lying beneath a stone slab while the Imp Tripsy shouted for customers and the Voidwalker Doorman swung a giant hammer overhead.

"...Nobody got hurt?"

Taylor was practically made of armored muscle.

He could probably survive someone smashing steel beams across his chest.

Doorman, on the other hand...

The enormous Voidwalker looked less like a warrior and more like someone who’d collapse from exhaustion after climbing a single flight of stairs.

Wouldn’t people find that suspicious?

"There were a few incidents."

Sarah shrugged.

"Several times the police showed up just before Taylor brought the hammer down."

Evenson blinked.

"...Wait."

He slowly lowered his cup.

"Taylor was the one swinging the hammer?"

"Of course."

Sarah looked confused.

"Doorman’s the tank."

"So naturally he’s underneath the rock."

...

...

That...

Actually made tactical sense.

Then reality caught up.

No, it absolutely doesn’t!

To every innocent passerby, it would look like three lunatics were publicly executing someone beneath a boulder.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Forget it."

One exhausted sigh contained everything he wanted to say.

"Tell them I’m back."

"They can stop earning money before someone actually gets arrested."

"I’d rather not spend my afternoon calling in favors at S.H.I.E.L.D."

Only then did another voice quietly interrupt.

"...Are you two finished?"

Steve was still sitting exactly where they’d left him.

Evenson slapped a hand against his forehead.

"Right. Sorry about that."

He laughed awkwardly.

"A dog that’s a little too intelligent can create... unique household problems."

Steve couldn’t hold it in anymore.

He laughed.

Now he finally understood why Fury had insisted he come here personally.

"I think I know why Director Fury wanted me to talk to you."

"Oh?"

Evenson leaned back.

"Why’s that?"

Steve’s smile became increasingly difficult to suppress.

"He said I’ve been disconnected from society for over sixty years."

"My knowledge, my habits... even the way I think."

"He wants S.H.I.E.L.D. to help me catch up."

"So far that all makes sense."

"But then he said..."

Steve actually started chuckling.

"...that I should spend time talking with you."

"And?"

Evenson still wasn’t hearing the punchline.

Steve shook his head.

"He said if he asked you directly..."

"...you’d probably charge him for psychological counseling."

"So he figured it’d be safer to send me instead."

Evenson gave a theatrical, wounded smile.

"Nick Fury really does know me."

He folded his arms.

"You realize I could just charge you instead."

Steve shrugged.

"How?"

"I’ve technically been dead for over sixty years."

"Before the crash, I signed a will donating everything I owned to the government."

"So these days..."

"...after living expenses, I’m basically broke."

Evenson stared at him for several long seconds.

Then he nodded solemnly.

"The next time Taylor performs ’Breaking Stones on the Chest’..."

"...you’re joining the act."

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