First priority: shoes.
Jack's feet were killing him. Every step on the cracked sidewalk reminded him that bare soles and civilization didn't mix. And he was pretty sure most places still enforced that classic rule: No shirt, no shoes, no service.
Across the street, he spotted a store called Henderson's Everything — which sounded promisingly chaotic. Hopefully, "everything" included cheap footwear.
As he crossed the street, he caught his reflection in a storefront window. The silver hair and blue eyes still threw him off every time. He looked like an anime protagonist lost in the real world. But at least the rest of him screamed vaguely normal teen — or maybe troubled youth who needs a sandwich. Close enough.
The bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside. The place was cozy in a cluttered kind of way — narrow aisles stacked with everything from canned soup to duct tape.
Behind the counter, an elderly woman peered up from a crossword puzzle. Her expression was a mix of curiosity and grandmotherly concern.
"Can I help you, honey?" she asked, voice warm.
"Yeah," Jack said, giving her a polite smile. "Looking for some shoes. Nothing fancy."
"Shoes are in the back corner, near the overalls. We've got sneakers, boots, sandals. No Nikes, though."
"Perfect. Thanks."
Jack weaved through the aisles, brushing past brooms, batteries, and boxes of off-brand cereal. When he reached the shoe rack, the selection was... basic, but serviceable. He grabbed a pair of black canvas sneakers that looked close to his size. Price tag: fifteen bucks.
Score.
As he turned to head back to the counter, his ears caught a conversation outside. Two men, just beyond the door, talking in low, serious voices.
"He doesn't belong here. Too clean."
"Government?"
"Could be. Or worse."
Jack froze. His senses flickered to life like motion detectors in a dark hallway. He focused, feeling out the emotions behind the words.
Suspicion. Tension. Is that… fear?
Fear of what? Me?
He slipped up to the counter, casual but alert.
"Find what you need?" the woman asked, already ringing him up.
"Yeah, these should do the trick," Jack said, handing over the shoes and the twenty Frank had given him. "Hey… everything okay in town? I overheard some guys outside. Sounded like something's got people nervous."
The woman's expression tightened — just a flicker, but enough.
"Oh, that," she said, waving a hand like she didn't want to dwell. "We've had some… odd visitors lately. Strangers asking weird questions. Taking pictures of barns, of all things. Probably just nosy tourists, or bloggers looking for ghost stories. But, you know how small towns are. Rumors grow legs."
"Tourists who take pictures and ask questions," Jack echoed. "Sounds like government types."
"Wouldn't surprise me," she said. "Or some kind of reporter. Either way, it's got people on edge."
She handed him the shoes and his change.
"You're not from around here either, are you?"
"Just passing through," Jack replied, keeping it light. "Thanks for the help."
He stepped outside and flopped down on a bench to put the sneakers on. As he laced them up, his mind was racing.
Government types? In Millbrook? Could be SHIELD. Or Hydra. Or any number of shadowy letter agencies that made up the Marvel alphabet soup. Or it could be completely unrelated… for now.
He stood, testing the fit. The shoes were snug, comfortable. Functional. And more importantly, he no longer looked like a shoeless drifter.
Jack took a breath and glanced up and down the quiet street. The town still looked peaceful. But now he was sure of one thing — that peace was paper-thin.
Staying here too long isn't an option. He needed to stay ahead of whatever was coming. Get a place to crash, gather information, maybe figure out where in the MCU timeline he actually was. Were the Avengers even a thing yet? Was Tony still a weapons dealer? Did Thanos know how to spell "Earth" yet?
"One step at a time," Jack muttered to himself.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking down the sidewalk like he had somewhere to be — even if he didn't. Yet.