A/N Title taken from the lyrics of the RyanDan "Tears of an Angel." We all knew this moment would come, from the moment we saw half of the Avengers turn to ash... (SPOILERS FOR INFINITY WARS AHEAD)
Clint tapped the feet of a plastic lion against the handmade, planked coffee table. "Li-on," Clint annunciated.
"Yi-Yon," Nate repeated back, looking intently at his father's face for a moment, before reaching to grab the toy lion out of Clint's hands.
Clint narrowed his eyes and tried again. "LI-ON, Natey. LI-ON."
At this point the nearly two-year-old had flopped onto the floor in unconcerned toddler fashion, and said clearly, "Yi-yon. Yi-yon, yi-yon." He glanced up at his father who was sitting on the couch. "My yi-yon."
Clint chuckled, and stood up while brushing off imagined dirt from the front of his pants, "That's right, bud, your 'yi-yon.'" He turned to look into the kitchen where his wife was chopping up vegetables for dinner. Clint swooped in behind her back for a kiss to her cheek and wrapped his arms around Laura's middle. "Need a hand, hon?"
Laura glanced into his eyes and saw his playful smirk. "I'm okay, thanks. Could you see if Coop and Lila need some help with the ice cream maker?"
"Umhm," Clint confirmed, burying his nose in her neck briefly before pulling back. "Coop, how's it goin'?" Clint called out to his son, who stood over Lila at the kitchen table, watching as Lila slowly turned a crank attached to a wooden bucket.
Cooper's eyes flickered over to Clint for only a moment, quickly refocusing on his sister's progress with the ice cream maker as if he felt looking away would allow the entire thing to fall apart. "Um, I think it's fine. Could you look at it and make sure we're doing it right?"
Clint grinned. Cooper and Lila had decided to make ice cream by themselves. Usually Laura helped make the cream that would go into the maker and then Clint or Laura filled the machine with ice and salt. It made Clint's heart warm seeing how deeply concerned Cooper was with doing it right and not disappointing Lila. Clint peeked over the side of the barrel, seeing that the ice was melting slightly, but still solid enough to be hardening the cream in the machine's middle.
"Look's good, bud. Just like when me or mom do it." Clint gave Cooper an approving slap on the back, and Cooper grinned in pride, but still didn't raise his eyes from the machine.
"You doin' okay crankin', baby?" Clint asked Lila, noticing that Lila was cranking slower than she had been a moment before.
"It's hard," Lila said, still using every ounce of strength she had to keep it going, clearly not wanting to disappoint her adored big brother. Clint kissed her on the head. "Why don't you switch out, goose, and let Coop take a few cranks." Lila looked relieved as she stepped back and let Cooper take over. Although Clint knew Cooper would never have asked Lila to move, Cooper also seemed more comfortable back in control, turning the crank methodically and much more quickly than Lila had been able to.
"Rar rar, yi-yon eat you!"
Clint looked down to find Nate attacking his leg with his toy lion. Clint cried out, "Oh, he is, is he?" and stooped down to catch up a giggling and squealing Nate into his arms. "Well I'm gonna eat you!" Clint began to tickle him, blowing raspberries onto Nate's t-shirted belly saying, "Nom nom nom." Nate's hysterical baby-laughter filled the kitchen.
"Honey, don't get him too wound up or he won't be able to settle for dinner," Laura admonished lightly, clearly enjoying the sight of her husband playing with their son.
"Aw, Natey won't get too wound up, will you half-pint?" Clint asked, a silly grin on his face as he let up on his tickle attack and shifting Nate so he lay in his arms like a baby. Nate giggled more calmly, lifting up pudgy toddler hands to explore Clint's face saying, "Da-dee." Clint looked back at his son with adoring eyes and imitated Nate's speech pattern, "Bud-dee."
There was a quiet gasp from the kitchen. Thinking Laura had burned herself, Clint looked over as his wife turned to face him. Laura's shocked eyes met his before she held up her right hand for them both to see. A pit of terror formed in Clint's stomach when he realized her hand was gone. Then, as though a breeze had blown in and scattered dandelion dust, Laura shattered into fragments of floating ash.
Clint's brain couldn't even comprehend. He stood there, transfixed in horror until he heard a small, confused voice.
"Dad?"
Clint turned around, his eyes still wide and his arms clutching Nate to see Cooper looking stunned, half of his body already melted away. "COOP!" Clint bellowed, reaching a hand out just in time to grasp at Cooper's shirt before it melted into grey smoke in his hand. Lila began to scream at the top of her voice, terrified. "Mama!" her little voice called frantically, hysterical sobs in her voice. "MAMA!"
Still holding Nate in one arm, Clint dropped down to his knees to scoop his screaming daughter into a hug. Lila held on tight, and Clint clutched even tighter. Clint could feel her heart racing and hear her mournful, frantic cries. Then Clint's arm knocked against his chest, as smoke fluttered away from his body. Clint choked out a soft, "No," of disbelief and stumbled to his feet and away from where his daughter had just been.
Clint pulled back and looked at Nathaniel. He appeared okay, but his laughter was gone. He was not crying; just quiet, like he wasn't sure what to do. Clint whispered softly, "It's okay, buddy," while not believing it in the slightest, and pulled out his cell phone.
Clint punched in the memorized phone number of Natasha's burn phone, and pleaded with the phone, "Pick up, pick up, PICK UP!"
Nate let out a small whimper at Clint's raised voice, as Natasha's phone went to voicemail. Clint yelled in frustration. The machine beeped. "Tasha, what the hell-" voice breaking, "is happening?" Clint broke off to gasp in a breath as reality began to settle on him along with pure panic. His heart pounded and his stomach turned. "Laura … the kids … they're gone. It's only Nate, and -"
Something was wrong. Nate. Nate felt wrong in his arms.
Clint dropped the phone to cradle Nate in his arms, looking his son over in terror. "Nate?" Clint asked, voice shaking from terror. Clint looked into his son's sweet face, his big blue eyes wide in confusion. "Nate, no," Clint groaned deeply, so deep it felt like it would break every bone in his body. Nate's little stockinged foot was gone.
"Nate, no," Clint cried out helplessly as ash swirled away from Nate's body leaving empty air.
Nate's face remained for one more brief moment- Clint screamed, "GOD, NOOOOOOOO!" -before only ash remained in Clint's arms.
Clint collapsed to the ground screaming loud and long, a fire of agony rolling through his belly, blurring his vision and making him unable to stand. Everything. He had … lost. Everything.
They … had lost. Steve felt numb, fuzzy headed as he stared towards the place Bucky had vanished. Nothing made sense. Yes, Bruce had emphasized what would happen if Thanos were successful, had described the horror of the massacre aboard the Asgardian vessel. But Steve had imagined that somehow, Thanos would still need to get past him, this army, the Avengers before any civilians would be harmed. Never had Steve imagined ….
They were just … gone.
And he … he was still here.
That was probably what stung the most. If Thanos had killed him to get to Civilians and massacre the universe, it should have been over his dead body. Sacrifice was something Steve understood on a primal level. Living after a defeat ….
There was nothing left to do. No fight left to fight. They … had lost.
"Natasha?" Bruce's gentle voice shook some of the static from Steve's ears and took Steve away from his thoughts. Stiffly, Steve turned around to see what Bruce had seen. Natasha stood behind Steve holding a phone in one limp hand as muted sound filtered through the phone's speaker. Her face was completely pale, ashen, as if all blood had drained from her cheeks. Her mouth was fixed and her eyes were expressionless, but … down one cheek, a single tear made a slow trek.
Steve glanced at the phone and then met her eyes for a moment. Steve echoed Bruce's query. "Natasha? Who…?"
Natasha watched Steve for a moment and then slowly lifted the phone, glancing at it and tapping a few times.
A voice rang out from the phone, filling the quiet forest. "Tasha, what the hell-" the voice cracked, "is happening?" Steve immediately recognized Clint's voice, but there was a note of desperation that Steve had never heard from Clint, not even on the most screwed up missions.
For a long moment, only the sounds of Clint gasping for air could be heard as Bruce and Steve listened, transfixed. Steve had a horrible feeling that he knew where this call was going, and braced himself, even as his heart pounded.
Clint's voice continued. "Laura … the kids … they're gone." Bruce gasped and murmured, "Oh, God." Steve's stomach turned, nausea creeping in along with a tightening in his throat.
"It's only Nate, and -" a pause. Now Clint's voice sounded slightly muted as if further away.
"Nate?" Steve's stomach dropped at the panic, the terror in Clint's voice. "Nate, no," Clint groaned, the agony almost tangible. Steve clenched his jaw, attempting to ground himself, trying to keep the stinging in his eyes from becoming something more.
"Nate, no," Clint was pleading. Steve couldn't bear to hear this. "God, NOOOOOO!" Then there was screaming, animalistic and inhuman. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the nausea that forced bile into his throat. Natasha let the screams continue for another moment before cutting off the message.
No one spoke. Then Thor broke the pained silence, his voice rumbling with sympathy and with his own unmistakable grief. "I understand friend Barton. I understand … what it is to have nothing left. I – he should not be alone."
Steve nodded and then gazed to where Bucky had stood, imagining half the earth gone. Someone else's best friends, their parents, their children. The torrent of grief and loss Steve had himself realized when he had first awoken from the ice, had been meted out to the entire world. The image struck, in horrific clarity: it was like Steve could hear a thousand Clint Bartons screaming through their immense loss across hundreds of nations. Alone.
Steve murmured, soul despairing: "We are alone."