Chapter Text
Cold.
That’s the first sensation you register after it all went dark. You’re cold. Not a shivering cold. It doesn’t hurt. You don’t seek warmth.
You’re just… cold.
Adrift.
There's a peace in the feeling. There's no one in need of saving. No danger lurking around the corner. For the first time in your life, there's no fight. No battle to be won.
You don't have to keep clawing your way to the surface. You're just adrift, floating in a vast, unending void.
There's just nothing.
You can't bring yourself to open your eyes. It's like a sleep you know you won't wake up from.
The second sensation you register is a slight warmth, like a light dancing over your skin, warming you from the inside out.
The warmth laps at you, cascading over you until you’re finally warm again. It doesn’t stop there.
The light burns brighter.
Brighter.
Brighter.
Even when you think it can’t get any brighter, it does.
But it never hurts. It doesn't sting.
You don't feel like an Icarus, flying too close to the Sun.
You feel like you're being pulled back into the sunlight after being lost in the depths of a raging sea.
Your eyelids feel cemented shut. The light seeps through your eyelids until your curiosity gets the best of you.
You creak a bleary eye open, readying yourself for the pain that will inevitably come when you attempt to sit up.
Only, it doesn't.
You feel better than you have in years. The unbearable ache of grief is gone. The searing pain is gone. You gasp for air and it doesn't hurt. Your broken heart almost feels mended.
You sit up to find yourself back in the Compound, the common room, just like it was when it stood tall.
You frantically look around, sitting on the hardwood floor. Your mind races as you try to process everything happening all at once. One moment, you're slipping away into a restful slumber. The next, you're perfectly fine, sitting in a place that you'd seen reduced to rubble.
A familiar silhouette in your peripheral catches your eye in your frenzy. Your head quirks as you squint at the figure staring out the window, “Tony?”
Tony slowly turns, his eyes grazing over the common room of the Avengers Compound, hands crossed over his chest and lips pursed in distaste, “Are you kidding me? Out of all the places your conscious could’ve dreamt up, you picked here?”
“Sorry.”
"I'm just saying, you could've been a little more creative." He shakes his head, rolling his eyes before walking over to you. He extends a hand to you, helping you stand up off the floor, “What are you doing here, Pinkie Pie?”
Your eyebrows pull together as you try to recall the events that led you back here.
It all gets blurry after Sam found you bleeding out. It feels hazy. Like little flashes of your life slipping away. Sam scooping you up. Bucky crouching down beside you. A tear streaming down his cheek. Sirens. You remember sirens. Lots of them. Blaring. Screeching in the background. You can't help but wonder what happened afterward.
You slightly shrug your shoulders, your face falling as you realize being here with Tony can't mean anything good. It hits you that you've left Bucky and Sam. They aren't here.
You've left them behind.
That familiar ache slowly creeps its way back to your heart, winding up your arm, through your ribcage, to the place where your heart resides.
You shakily inhale, panic creeping up your spine, “I dunno, I- I lost a fight, I think.”
Tony dismissively waves his hand, “That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I was trying to save a kid, Karli. She’s like me.”
His head lolls slightly, "Now, that sounds like you.”
Your eyes rake over the common room. It's just like you remember it. Before. When things were still okay. “How are we here right now? The Compound was destroyed.”
“I don’t know," Tony admits with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, "In fact, you’re the first not dead person that’s come to visit me. What a bunch of assholes.”
“So if you’re…” you trail off, not wanting to offend your friend with insensitivity.
“Dead?” Tony finishes for you.
“Yeah, if you’re dead, why do you still have your arc reactor? And why is it still on?” you point out, looking at the arc reactor still glowing in the center of his chest.
Tony snickers, looking down at the little blue light emanating through his shirt, “I thought it looked cool. This one is purely decorative.”
“Tony?”
He looks up, “Yeah?”
You gulp. “Am I dead?”
“Have you seen any movie ever?" he guffaws, rolling his eyes in the exact way that he used to. Every thing about Tony Stark is just like you remember. The memory tugs at your heart. This was the Tony that was your friend. This was the Tony before the fight. This Tony didn't hate you yet. At least, you hoped this Tony didn't hate you. "No, you’re not dead.”
You frown, “Oh.”
“Just how bad did you lose that fight?” Tony hesitantly wonders.
Your mouth twists with remorse, “Bad.”
“How bad?”
You look down where the wound was only moments ago, only to find nothing there. No wound. Your lucky shirt untainted. No pain radiating through your body. It's like it never happened. “Like there’s a gaping hole in my stomach bad.”
He dramatically winces, “Ouch.”
“Well, it’s gone now, so I guess that’s good," you halfheartedly joke. "Gotta look at the bright side and everything, you know?”
“Pinkie-“
You ignore the worry building in Tony's expression. You remember that look on his face. You saw it many times and it never led to anything good.
You want to remember Tony like he was before, you don't want the worry to taint the man that stands before you. This Tony was your friend. This Tony would never have shot at you. You just want to keep it that way. You turn away from him, padding around the common room, "Hey, have you seen Steve up here? He came up here too.”
Tony ambles behind you, eyes trailing over every detail of the common room. It's all there. Just like you both remembered it. Steve's journal strewn on the coffee table. Sam's movie collection. Wanda's magazines. Natasha's books. It's your home. It's everything you missed, all pieced back together. You would be content to stay in this space forever. It had everything you knew and loved right here. All you were missing was Sam and Bucky. Two of the most vital pieces of your puzzle.
“Capiscle? He’s been around.”
You look back at him over your shoulder, “Can I see him?”
“It’s your conscious, do what you want.”
"Really?" you hopefully ask, still looking back at Tony.
"Really." Tony juts his chin over your shoulder.
“Hi, Sunshine.” The familiar sound of Steve’s voice is enough to shatter your heart and break any resolve you had to stay calm.
You turn around, and there he is, standing before you. A choked sob catching in your throat at the sight of Steve, standing there as you once knew him. Bright blue eyes, young smile, kind, patient eyes, it’s the friend you so desperately missed. “Steve? Are you- is this real?”
He smiles, that warm signature Steve Rogers smile. Just like you remember. “It’s real, Sunshine.”
Just behind him, Natasha appears.
Her hands fold over her chest, with her signature smirk and a sarcastic glint in her eye, “You know, you’ve got a real knack for showing up in places you’re not supposed to be.”
“Sorry,” you chuckle through tears. “Force of habit. It- It’s good to see you guys.”
“Oh, God, Sunshine,” Steve envelopes you in a warm embrace, he whispers into the hair at the crown of your head, “What are you doing here? You’re too early. It’s too soon for you.”
“I lost tonight, Steve.” You swallow the knot lodged in your throat, “I failed."
Steve immediately pulls away from you, shaking his head again and again, "I don't believe that, not for one second."
"You should.” You pull out of Steve’s embrace, fervently shaking your head over and over again. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want him to know you like this. That doesn’t want him to know the person you became once everything was said and done. You want him to keep believing in you the way you used to believe in yourself. You want to be the person he knew all those years ago. But you're not. And that's the sad truth you have to tell your friend. That girl is gone. She was broken far beyond repair. “You would - you would be so disappointed in me. If you could see me now, I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I'm not anything like the person you knew.”
Steve looks down and sighs at you, "You've always been so hard on yourself."
“No, Steve, I'm not. I ran away - the second things got hard, I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran. And- And I hurt James. I hurt Sam. I just keep hurting them. Everyone. And tonight- tonight - I couldn’t save anyone. I didn’t save anyone. Sharon got away. Karli watched me bleed out. I didn’t - Sam and Bucky, oh God, I promised them, I promised them I would come back. I failed everyone tonight.”
“You changed her mind tonight," Nat pipes in. "You single-handedly changed Karli’s mind. You changed her story's ending.”
Your head twists, unsure if you heard her right, “What?”
“And those hostages," Steve adds. "The ones in the truck.”
“Or the ones that were seconds away from being flattened onto the pavement,” Tony continues.
“How do you guys know about that?”
“You’ve always got someone looking out for you, Sunshine,” Steve promises, a hopeful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Always."
“We actually have to take shifts between the three of you, you’re sort of a handful,” Tony sarcastically remarks.
“Tony,” Steve sharply admonishes, shooting a quick glare at him. “You know they're doing their best - but yes, you are a handful.”
Nat guffaws, "Like you two were any better."
"What are you talking about?" Tony scoffs. "We were the epitome of professional. We set the standard for professionalism."
“I’m glad you have them." Nat continues, ignoring Tony entirely. "You make a good team."
"I never got to see you again," you brokenly whisper. Nat sadly smiles, but she doesn't say anything. She just pulls you into the tight embrace that she knows you desperately need. "I miss you, Nat. I miss you so much."
"You're gonna be okay."
You mutter into her shoulder, "Will I?"
"Yeah. You will," she promises.
Steve looks on as you pull away from Natasha, wiping away the stray tears.
He sucks in a breath, shaking his head despondently, "I never meant to hurt you. Never."
You smile at him, "I know."
"But I did, didn't I?"
You don't answer his question. The answer lingers somewhere in the long silence. You don't have to tell him that you were hurt by his absence. You can tell by the look on his face that he knows he did. His little ripple in time caused a typhoon of chaos that almost drowned those left behind. You don't need to tell him that. Instead, you tell him, "We all wanted you to be happy. You deserved that much."
"You deserve that too."
Steve's words strike a chord deep within you. It's always hard to hear. You don't truly believe you do deserve that. You don't know that you'll ever really believe that. You want to, though. You really want to.
"Hey, Nick's not -" You have to swallow the fear that comes along with that question, but you knew there was always a chance that he might just be gone too. Years had gone by without a trace of him. That was the harsh reality of your life. Even if you were angry with him, even if he was really the person that Sharon told you he was, he still was the closest thing to a father that you knew. "He's not here, is he?"
"No. Nick's not here."
You softly breath a sigh of relief, "Oh."
"He cared about you," Steve unexpectedly says. "In his own, Nick Fury way, he really did."
You don't know what to say to that. You don't even really know what that means. You're just glad he's not gone too.
In the beat of silence, a faint noise catches your attention.
An incessant beeping slowly crescendos in the background, barely audible to your ears at first. It creeps up suddenly, then it's impossible to ignore. It's loud, flooding your eardrums. It swells to the point that you can't hear anything else.
And then, just one long monotone beep.
A flatline, you realize.
A chill runs down your spine. That cold feeling finds you again. And you almost swear that the bright, sunny day outside the Compound windows gets just a little too bright.
They're losing you.
The feeling hits you like a ton of bricks. You don't know how you know that, but you do. You feel it. You feel yourself drifting to an unreachable place.
You shake your head, reaching to cover your ears.
That's when you hear it.
A voice faintly shouts, their voice laced with panic, "We can't find a pulse."
"Charging," a different voice calls over the chaos. "Clear!"
“What is that?” you ask, wincing as you hear the sound of the defibrillator charging again.
Steve gently rests his hand on your shoulder. Just like that, the panicked sounds are only background noise again. He softly smiles down at you, “That’s your cue, Sunshine. Sam and Bucky are waiting for you. They need you.”
“What if I’m not ready to go back?” you timidly question.
You feel like a coward asking that. You feel like a coward for not being ready to go back to the world that awaited you. Bucky. Sam. You couldn't leave them. You just didn't see how you could possibly stay anymore.
Tony sidles up to the other side of you. He apologetically shrugs, like he knows that the world you'll be going back to is not the world as they left it. “It’s not your time yet, Pinkie.”
You rest your head against Tony's shoulder, a tear slips from your eyes, “I’m tired, Tony. I’m so tired.”
“So rest," he tells you. "And then you get back up. You get back and you keep going.”
“What if I don’t want to get back up anymore?”
Steve chortles, shrugging his shoulders, “Then we wouldn’t be here, would we?”
You turn back to Tony once more, desperate to get the final goodbye you'd carried for years your off your chest. Finally, you'd get to say goodbye. You'd get to apologize. You could tell him that you never wanted to hurt him. “Tony, I-“
He stops you. He shakes his head, smiling with the fondness you thought was long gone, “I never hated you. I could never hate you.”
You shakily inhale, “You promise?”
“Yeah, Pinkie. I promise.”
You turn to Natasha next. She smiles, jutting her head in the other direction, "Go. Those two wouldn't last five minutes by themselves."
“Get back up, Sunshine," Steve encourages you one last time. "The world isn’t ready to be without you yet.”
You turn back to them one last time. You just want one more glimpse of your friends as they used to be. There's so much you want to say to them, but your time here is so fleeting. You can't bring yourself to say another goodbye. Your mouth simply won't form the words. So you tell them the simplest truth that you know. Beyond the grief, the hurt, the betrayals, all the petty arguments, you missed them terribly. That was the simplest truth: the void left by their absence was one that would never be filled. It was your greatest reminder that for a short time you had your found family. You would bear the pain with pride. Another tear slips down your cheek, you wipe it away with a sad smile, “I miss you guys.”
“We’ll be waiting for you when it is your time.”
“Promise?”
Steve smiles at you and encouragingly nods. For the first time in a long time, you feel like you're actually going to be okay. Your past will remain here. Perfectly preserved. A proud relic of a time long gone. You had to leave it behind all over again, say goodbye one more time.
But you've got you. You've got Bucky. You've got Sam. And that meant it was time to go.
“Promise."