"Here now, son. Jacket. Belonged to my boy. It's old, seen better days, but it oughtta fit ya. Reckon you got 'bout the same build he was, oh, twenty years back or so." A blurry old man spoke.
He didn't wait for a reply. "Been five summers since he's gone now. Died in combat, they told us. Like I'd believe that load of bull. Those so-called 'heroes'… they dropped a whole damn city on him. On my boy. He was over there in Sokovia doin' humanitarian work, they said. Savin' kids. And they just… dropped a city on 'im. A whole damn city." The old man fumbled with a hip flask and took a long, shaky swig.
"We'd talked, just the day before it all went to hell. Said he'd found himself a girl, a real keeper. Said he was gonna marry her. Told me, he said, 'Pop, you and Ma are gonna be chasin' grandkids 'round this house 'fore you know it.' Said we'd be runnin' after 'em while he ran free in the open fields, just like when he was a pup. Said my old lady wouldn't ever have to fret 'bout an empty nest again."
The old man's voice cracked, a raw edge of pain. "I hollered at him, y'know? Said I wanted a granddaughter first, and she'd ride that little pony old Betty, my mare, that had just foaled. He just laughed, that boy. Laughed and said he'd name her after my own mother, and the first grandson after my old lady's pa. We believed him. We the old fools. Waited. Waited to see our daughter-in-law, our grandkids. Me and the missus, we even had a little tussle, laughin' like fools, 'bout whose turn it was to spoil 'em rotten, now that new young blood was finally comin' to the family."
He paused, the silence heavy. "Then came the next day. He was due back in a month. I'd fed the cattle, even picked out a couple of prime steers to butcher for his welcome home feast. Came back to the house… I hollered for my old lady, but… she didn't answer. I can still feel my boots hurryin', heart poundin' in my chest, thinkin' the worst, y'know? Couldn't have my old lady cashin' in her chips from a heart attack before she got to see her boy again." The grip on the hip flask tightened, knuckles white.
"She was there. In the parlor. Just… starin' at the television. The Avengers, they were fightin' in that Sokovia place. I watched… watched that whole damn island just lift up into the sky, like somethin' outta a nightmare. And those metal… things… rainin' fire down. Tried callin' my son. Hands shakin' so bad I could barely dial." The old man's hand, even now, trembled visibly. "He didn't pick up. We called his phone, his workplace, every last one of his buddies. Nothin'. Not a damn word. All I could do was hold my old lady while we watched the world burn on that damn screen."
"I served, y'know. Back in 'Nam. My boy, he was cut from the same cloth. Had that wanderlust in his soul, same as me. Never could sit still in one place for too long. Not even with us. But he looked up to me, I reckon. Joined the Army, became a Ranger, just like his old man. Did his time. Iraq, Afghanistan, any damn place they'd send him, he'd go. Then he got… tired of it, I guess. The fightin'. Started doin' that NGO stuff, out in the remote places, helpin' folks who didn't have somthin' to live for. He wasn't home much, that boy. But Lord, I was proud of him. So damn proud." Tears welled in the old man's blurry eyes, tracing paths down weathered cheeks.
"When the dust settled, when the chaos died down a bit… I heard those Avengers, they had themselves a party. Stark, he threw some big celebration. While I was out there, beggin', roamin' around like a lost soul, askin' anyone who'd listen if they'd found my son's body. For a solid month, I haunted my old general's doorstep, talkin' 'bout old times, sharin' old war stories, anything, just hopin' for a word, a sign, a chance to see my son's remains, to bring him home one last time. They couldn't find him. Nothin'. All they found were a few scorched photographs that somehow survived all that destruction. Showed my daughter-in-law, the one we never met, and him. They'd even made these little crayon drawin's, figures of my grandsons and granddaughters, the ones we'd never hold. And a picture of us, me and my old lady, lookin' like a couple of worn-out fools." The tears fell freely now, heavy drops splashing onto the dusty ground.
"All I had left were those damn pictures to remember him by. Nothin' else. Then, one day, they brought a casket to our door. Empty. An empty goddamn casket, with his medals sittin' on top. And some slick lawyer from Stark Industries, brought me a check, lookin' all solemn, sayin' how sorry they were for my son's… heroic 'demise.' I burned that check right there in front of her. Sent that empty casket packin', too. But not before I took those medals. Stripped 'em right off. Why wouldn't I? It was somethin' my son earned, somethin' real, even if they weren't the ones he wore in life...... I was just an old man, son. An old man who wanted nothin' more in this cursed world than to see his boy one more time. Even if it was just in the shine of some medals he never got to pin on his own chest."
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MARY RANGER.
1952 - 2016
A Loving Wife. An Even Better Mother. Grandmother of Leo and Maya.
"She was a fierce one, my Mary." the old man said, his voice thick with a lifetime of love and loss. His indistinct form seemed to solidify slightly around the edges of this memory. "A real spitfire. A fireball wrapped up in a woman's skin. Took my breath clean away, the first time I laid eyes on her. I was just a pup then, what, fourteen maybe? All full of piss and vinegar, lookin' to go off and die for my country like a damn fool. Then I saw her. Standin' there in this little floral print dress, sun shinin' in her hair. Stole my breath in a single heartbeat. Felt more like a blushin' schoolgirl lookin' at her than any kind of soldier."
He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Yet, somehow, that seemed to catch her fancy. We talked. Lord, we talked for what felt like ages, though it was probably just an afternoon. Then… then my draft letter came. Showed up right there in the mail. She was terrified, son. Scared I wouldn't come back."
The old man's blurry fingers traced the name on the stone. "I was scared too. 'Fore I met her, I was jumpin' at the chance to go play hero. But standin' there, lookin' into her eyes… I was thinkin' 'bout dodgin' that draft, runnin' off, anything, just to have one more day with her. But we knew we couldn't. So, we made our vows, right then and there, under that old oak tree by Miller's Creek. Vowed that when I came back, I'd make her my wife. That I'd be hers, and she'd be mine, 'til the end of our days."
"And I did. I survived that hellhole, came back in one piece, mostly. We got married the very same day I set foot back on American soil. She looked like an angel, son, walkin' down that aisle. That's when I knew. Knew she was the kind of woman a man would go to the ends of the earth for, fight war and dragons for." He chuckled again, a softer sound this time, filled with the warmth of cherished memories. "Remember this, kid. If you find yourself a woman worth keepin', a real one… you go to any lengths, you hear me? Any lengths at all to keep her by your side. 'Cause if you don't, sure as shootin', someone else will try and take her away from you."
"We tried for years to have a child. Years. Got no results. Doctor said it just wasn't in the cards for us. But that didn't break us, no sir. So what if we were childless? We had each other. That was enough. And then… then by some miracle, some divine intervention, I don't know what… we had our son. Our boy." His voice swelled with a fierce, protective pride. "A son we could be proud of. We cherished him, son. Like he was the apple of our eye. No, he was more than that. So much more."
"They say sons, they tend to grow distant from their fathers when they get older, get closer with their mamas. That was true enough for our boy. His death… it hit her harder than anything this cursed world could throw at her. She held on, somehow, for another year. Then… then she just faded. Died the very same day that city fell on him, a year later to the date. Died holdin' that picture of her son, her daughter-in-law she never met, and those grandkids she never got to bounce on her knee." The old man's back slumped, resting against the cold stone of the grave.
"Grandson." he said, his voice a raw whisper, his blurry form turning slightly. "Can I… can I call you that? You feel more like the grandson I never had than anyone else I've met in all my years. Come here, boy. Give this old fool a hug." Tears, if he had any left, had long since run dry, but his eyes, even indistinct, shone with a profound, aching sorrow.
He stepped forward and embraced the old man, a silent, shared moment of grief and understanding.
"Remember this, son." the old man rasped, his voice cracking. "Life… life is short. Too damn short. What you want, what you truly need in this world… you go for it. Don't let nothin' and nobody stand in your way."
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"MS-N'Barro-X377, let us return home, shall we? And to ensure your continued… cooperation… and a smooth transition back to your designated reality, here is a small welcome gift." The old man's head, severed and lifeless, rolled to Ranger's feet.
"Let us go home now, MS-N'Barro-X377."
"Ranger."
The voice paused. "What did you say, MS-N'Barro-X377?"
"I said." his voice was cold, hard, forged in a grief that transcended universes, "My name is Ranger."