Things had changed. Double of the people living in New York City a month ago roamed the streets, and when you woke up in the mornings because of their noise, you wouldn’t remember for a second what had happened… and then the reason for the noise came back to you, and the memories involving it.
Losing the battle against Thanos, everyone dusting off before your eyes, including Stephen, five years in solitary and, to beat the big, bad guy, two final sacrifices.
Things had changed.
As you found what to wear that day, you turned on the radio in your alarm clock. An upbeat song finished a few seconds later, and the news started.
“Tonight! People from New York City and even across the globe gather around the Avengers compound to honour the sacrifice of the Black Widow and Iron Man and to thank the team for their service and effort after defeating the Mad Titan, Thanos. Maya! What do you have for us today?”
“Juan, thank you very much for having me! It’s been exactly a month since the dusted returned, and when you walk past the neighbourhoods and buildings in the city, you can’t miss the Iron Man helmet or the Black Widow emblem. But tonight, we not only remember these loses. Tonight, we let go of the pain and grief we’ve felt ever since the decimation. Tonight, New York remem—”
You turned it off before she could finish the sentence, realising an ache took place in the back of your throat. If you heard the words New York remembers one more time, you’d lose it.
Downstairs, you spotted Stephen in the training room. He moved his hands and shifted his position but he wasn’t doing magic — his hands belonged to the doctor who’d had an accident, not to the Master of the Mystic Arts. Not at that moment at least.
“Good morning,” you greeted him and leaned against the frame of the door.
He was tall and slim, too slim for someone who ate as healthy as he did. A shadow hovered over his blue eyes, turning everything he saw into something to feel guilty of. His skin hadn’t changed a bit: fair, pink undertones and too easy for the sun to burn. And his hair always managed to send your blood rushing, something he knew and made fun of you for… however, you hadn’t heard any of those jokes in a while. He wore a grey t-shirt, jeans and he’d covered half of his hands and wrists in elastic bands.
His expression softened at the sight of you. He stood straight and said, “Hey.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Four hours. You?”
You sighed, walking towards him. “Three.” You gave him a crooked smile and the wrinkles in his eyes tilted up.
“I heard the news on the radio this morning. About the memorial.”
You frowned. “I thought you were too modern to listen to the radio.”
He shrugged. “I figured I’d try it your way for a change.”
“Ah.”
“Are you going?”
“Are you?”
Stephen grabbed the towel he had lying on the floor and wiped the sweat from his neck as he spoke, “I have to.”
His eyes darkened. The shadow hovered in the windows of his soul. Stephen hadn’t spoken to anyone about the return, about his guilt for Stark.
But neither had you. You hadn’t talked about the survivor’s guilt, the overwhelming loneliness, the loss of your newfound best friend, the grief of the loss of master and the man you loved still haunting you despite the fact that he stood in front of you.
“You’ve done the same routine for the last month,” you noticed. “You don’t miss a step.”
“And?”
“You’re retracing the battle.” Stephen’s expression didn’t change, but his jaw lifted and clenched against his teeth. “You’re trying to figure out what you could’ve done differently. The guilt is eating you alive.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” he said and began to walk away.
“You never do!” He stopped in his tracks. “Stephen, there’s nothing that you could’ve done to save him.”
“Most of the time guilt isn’t about the things we have control under. You’d know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There’s a lot you don’t talk about either,” he said and placed his towel over his shoulder. “You survived. You survived the decimation, you survived long enough to meet Natasha and see her die, you survived long enough to meet Steve and then see him throw his present out the window, you bonded with Tony through a tragedy… and then you lost him, too.”
An ache burned in the back of your throat, the tears in your eyes burned and your heartbeat hummed in your ears, fast and broken.
“You survived long enough to lose me and see me come back, and yet… you believe you shouldn’t have,” he continued. “My guilt? My grief? It’s nothing. Yours on the other hand…”
You nodded, looking down. “Whoa! Really taking shots at me today, huh, Strange?” You looked up and wiped down your tears with your shaky hands. “Anything else you want to add?”
He stayed quiet. Guilt settled in his body, and these days it was one of the main things he felt along with insomnia, disgust and hatred.
“If I go, you’ll see me there.”
And you left him there, both of you feeling your chests heavier than before.
—
The afternoon entered the evening and you watched the sun go down through your window. Lately, you found a fraction of peace in seeing something as natural as the sunset. You sat on the top of your dressing table, your arms wrapped around your legs. You shed a tear here and there, Stephen’s words repeating in the back of your head.
He was right. Of course he was right.
You heard steps in the hallway, hearing the faint voices of the doctor and Wong. Then, a knock on your door.
“(Y/N)?” He called and knocked twice again. “(Y/N), I’m sorry for how I said those things, I…” He sighed. “I remember. (Y/N), I remember.”
You looked at the closed door in disbelief as the memory returned to you: the red sky, the brown rocky ground under your knees, the wind blowing in anticipation. Drax went first, then Mantis, then Quill, then…
“I love you.”
He banished in front of your eyes. Your hands touched his ashes, your heart hammering in your chest, and a minute later, only Tony, Nebula and you remained. It had all been said and done, Thanos had taken his victims. Silence tarnished the old planet, the sudden losses so shocking you couldn’t move.
The feeling takes over you, even as you’re locked inside your bedroom with Stephen talking to you from outside.
You can’t help but let out a cry.
“At first I thought you hadn’t brought it up because you were scared I’d reject you, but… I realised it was because you were scared of losing me instead,” he explained. “That you’d wake up and I’d be gone again, but (Y/N), I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re no longer my apprentice, you’re my partner; and if even imagining losing you pains me, then I can’t begin to…”
You sniffled. You thought he didn’t have any recollection of it. He was halfway through banishing when you said the three magic words.
“I love you,” he said, and you covered your mouth to prevent him from hearing your sob, “and I’m not going anywhere, so, when you’re ready to open up, I’ll be too.”
He took a deep breath and then he walked away, his steps fainting down the stairs.
You didn’t move. The sun wasn’t up anymore. Every word played in your mind: Stephen loved you too, and those words coming from him would’ve sent you hopping through dimensions from the happiness six years ago, but now terror wouldn’t let you breathe.
You wanted to be at the compound. You wanted to hug the wife of the man who gave you the last portion of food you had on the ship, you wanted a drink with Sam and Bucky, you wanted to honour the woman who’d become your best friend through all the hardships. You wanted to light a wish balloon and let go of your guilt and fear, go back to who you used to be and with the man you wanted.
Most of the time guilt isn’t about the things we have control under.
“You’ve survived for too long,” Natasha had said. “Start living.”
Maybe letting go of the heartache in one night was too much. It wasn’t that easy, and every Avenger, every primal part of the group knew that. However, there were things from that list you could get done.
You took a deep breath and got up from the dressing table. You had a memorial to get ready for.
—
People flooded the grounds of the compound, looking through barriers recently put to keep pedestrians from entering. They weren’t big, but they weren’t interested in the latter either. Funerals were the only events powerful enough to gather so many different people in the same place to showcase one emotion: collective respect.
Instead, they sat on the grass. They had sheets and food and wishes balloons ready to be lit up.
You parked your car in the driveway and you noticed the remaining Avengers going out to the balcony with their own balloons. Bucky and Sam shared a balloon, Wanda held Nathaniel’s hand, Scott and Hope had theirs ready, Pepper had Morgan in her arm, Clint had one with his daughter and Laura with the eldest son, Rhodey and Happy stood by each side of Pepper, Spider-Man kept writing down things in his balloon and Stephen had a balloon of his own, Wong stepping out in this one.
You opened a portal to the balcony and popped your head out before anyone had the chance to attack. Wanda had already summoned her powers and Bucky had a knife in his hand.
They all let out a collective breath of relief.
“Only I have this much style opening a portal, how dare you,” you said getting out. You raised your hands at Bucky and frowned. “You brought a knife to a memorial? Really?”
Bucky shrugged and shoved it back into his boot.
The crowd applauded your entrance. You waved, offering them a close-lipped smile. You stood by Stephen and caught Pepper’s gaze. She nodded towards you and you nodded back. Clint put a hand on your left shoulder, words or gestures unnecessary.
“You made it,” Stephen said, and for a moment, you didn’t see the shadow that tormented him. He pointed to the balloon. “Anything you want to add?”
The crowd rose to their feet, the majority ready to release their balloons into the night sky.
“I think we’re both wishing for the same thing.”
Peace of mind.
You held the balloon from one corner and Stephen did it from another. In a moment of courage, you slipped half of your hand into his. He looked up at you, waiting for you to say something.
“I’m ready.”
He laced his fingers with yours, intertwining your hands. You’d only known how his hands felt in rough, rushed moments: a battle, a spar. Never in a gentle situation, and even though his hand was slightly dry and you could still draw his scars under your thumb caressing his, a sentiment of faith poked out of your heart.
“Me too.”
You and the Avengers released the balloons, and with them, the people. From afar, you could see balloons from places nearby go up. You let out a chuckle to the overwhelming support, looking up, tears sneaking to your ears and neck. You held Stephen’s hand tighter, and among the stars and wishes, saw Natasha’s face, and she said,
“Start living.”