That Night
That night they reconnected.
Sage and Adeline slept, intertwined in one another, holding tightly to each other and refusing to let go until they were faced with the harsh light of morning.
Loki finished his bath. He gave himself time to rejuvinate - to restore his magic and heal himself completely before attacking his skin with a loofah. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, determined to scrape away every last dead skin cell, every single speck of dust clinging to him from that place.
Tony talked. He explained and figured and worked every angle of every single thing that he could have done out in his mind before he was satisfied. Then, Tony watched. Tony watched silently the entire time. He watched, relief flowing through him as every wound and injury on his husband’s body disappeared. He watched with growing concern as Loki began to scrub at his skin; watched as Loki’s skin began fluctuating between shades of pink and its normal pale the harder and longer the other man scrubbed. When he couldn’t watch anymore he walked to the kitchenette and started making hot chocolate because he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know how to comfort, he didn’t know what he had to offer, so he tackled it like any other problem. He started to make something. He made two mugs of hot chocolate and then set them in the bedroom on the nightstand. He returned to the bathroom to see Loki still scrubbing at his skin with a far away look in his eyes, and he felt his heart shatter. He carefully laid a hand on his husband’s arm, took the loofah, and guided him up and out of the tub. He wrapped the other man in the softest towel they had and took him to the bedroom, dressing him in some of his own clothes and then putting him to bed, buried under a veritable mountain of blankets. He crawled in beside him and clutched him tightly, hot chocolate forgotten on the nightstand, doing his best to assure himself that everything would be alright in the morning.
Peter went home. He hugged his aunt tightly, unable to find the words to tell her just what he’d been doing for the past few days. He sent his best friend a text to assure the other boy that he was okay and that everything was right again. He ate a mountain of food, and then he collapsed into his bed, exhausted both physically and mentally, prepared to sleep for a week.
Pietro spent the night with Wanda. They curled around each other like they used to before everything; before anything, and they whispered to each other in their native language until the sun came up, afraid of what would happen if they closed their eyes long enough to fall asleep.
Wanda made room in her bed for her brother. She held him tightly and had memories of nights when they were much younger of doing the same thing but under entirely different circumstances. She thought about maybe, finally, talking to the girl who worked in the bookstore on the corner, because if this had taught her anything it was that things were temporary. Life was short. Events happened suddenly and without warning, and if you were too scared to take advantage of an opportunity, then it might be taken from you. She mentioned that to Pietro and he laughed at her, but not in the way that he usually would. The laugh sounded breathless, unbelieving. Like they’d been thinking similar things, and he still sometimes forgot that they didn’t have twin telepathy. Or that they did, but not. Different. Special. He told her that she definitely should ask the girl out, but that he wanted to meet her. She laughed and rolled her eyes. He would never change, and she loved that. The worst day of her life would be when her brother changed into someone else. It would be the day that something truly horrific and irriversable happened, and she wasn’t prepared. She never would be. So instead she laughed at him, pinched him on the arm, and held him tighter for the tiniest moment.
Bucky took a shower. He took the longest, hottest shower that he could manage and did his best to scrub away every bit of himself that still felt like Soldier after that week. He didn’t let Steve join him, but the other man understood. He could handle most missions. He could handle so much now that he never would have been able to before. He had been doing well, but this had wreaked havoc on him. This was something that his therapist would be hearing about for weeks, but he had that now. He had a therapist. He had Steve. He had the whole team. Things would be okay. He just had to get through tonight.
Steve did his best to give Bucky space. He wasn’t sure what the other man was going through. He didn’t want to know. He knew that it wasn’t anything good, and that was enough. He knew there was nothing he could do to help yet, and that was alright. He’d be there with all the comfort he could offer as soon as the other man stepped out of the bathroom, and that was okay. That was enough. It was what he had. They had all done everything they could, and now Loki and Sage were home safe. Maybe it would take a while, but they could deal with that. What was important was that they were home.
Bruce spent several hours in the lab. He locked the door and muted JARVIS and ignored and attempts at access. When he finally emerged in the wee hours of the morning, Thor was waiting at the door with open arms and soft eyes. They embraced tightly, ignoring the tears that were finally being spent and went to their rooms.
Thor worried. He worried and worried and worried until Bruce finally opened the doors of the lab, and then he was there. He was there for whatever his partner wanted to throw at him, but all Bruce wanted was a hug. A hug and someone to tell him that it would all be alright; someone who would let him cry into their shirt and who would sit with him on their couch and watch stupid, mindless television until the sun breached the horizon. Thor was willing, so willing to do that and whatever else the other man needed. Anything that could help Bruce feel steady and stable and human. Anything to keep his love with him, where he could see that the other was safe and sane and healthy. Anything to not be separated anymore.
Clint, Natasha, and Phil gave Fury the quickest debrief they could manage, and then the went home. They went to their own floor of the tower and curled up in the living room, Clint and Natasha squabbled over who should get the remote and Phil watched fondly. They didn’t discuss what the spies had to do over the past few days. They didn’t talk about how they thought the others were coping or the lack thereof. They didn’t treat it differently than any other mission, becuase if they did that it would be acknowledging what had happened. They didn’t work like that. They carried on. Acknowledgement of the Big Things happened in therapy. They didn’t need to do that here. All they needed to do here was to exist. To be themselves.
That night they reconnected. They took time to remember who they were; to refamiliarise themselves with those around them. They gave themselves time, space. They all let themselves breathe and stop worrying about everything ahead of them. They gave into whatever calm they could find, and let their traumas go until the morning. Nothing had to be dealt with that night. Nothing was so important that it needed their attention in those moments. That night they reconnected, because what else was there to do but to begin to heal?