Avenge the Fallen
The room was quiet at first, filled with the slow breathing of those present. It wasn't cold, but a chill enveloped all those sitting in the circle. Someone shifted their weight, the frame of a chair squeaking on the floor, the rustle of shoe soles on the upswept tile of the Veterans Administration center; the stale smell of dust permeating the space as a few lights flickered above reminiscent of lightning.
Steve sat at the head of the circle, if you can say a circle had an origin. His muscular shoulders slumped downward with the still fresh agony of loss even if it had been four years. He only came to this "therapy group" because of Sam. Looking forlornly at the door frame just beyond, he remembered meeting Sam for the first time, listening to the way Sam talked about carrying your troubles.
"We all have baggage." He had sympathized from the podium to the group of veterans assembled before him. "Some of us carry a purse, some of us carry a suitcase of issues and that is ok.: you are carrying it. You are dealing with it."
Heads nodded in agreement.
Steve thought about his baggage. How was he carrying it?
The people around him were not the Avengers. They had been strangers but once a week, they all came here where there was electricity and running water and sometimes, they talked about the loss. Most of the time they talked about how to survive with half the world gone. Those conversations were never easy.
"I found a new place that has some canned food." a woman offered.
"The water main down the street, it's not going any more. I guess the water company shut it off… automatically." a sad looking middle-aged man whispered not wanting to think about piles of dust sitting at controls.
"I shot a raccoon in Central Park. I have fresh meat." a younger teen said, somewhat proudly.
"I buried my neighbor." an ashen faced man said hollowly.
Steve looked around the circle today. All the regulars were here. He looked at the frame of the door again and saw the ghost of Sam standing there, a gentle smile on his face. He gave a spectral nod that made Rogers wonder if he was going insane.
The lights were harsh on everyone's features and a feeling of agitation permeated the group.
"Steve." a frequent visitor asked.
"Yeah?"
"Where are they? Are there any left besides you?"
Steve opened his mouth then shut it. He swallowed, "Yes."
"Why?" a woman asked, her voice's tone verging on shrill.
"Why what?"
Her eyes were wild in hurt. This happened every once in a while, when the strain of survival made people snap.
Steve dug down to Sam's memory for words but found none. "I dunno. We tried everything. We lost." His jaw muscles flexed in frustration.
The woman began to sob into her hands. Another therapy seeker comforted her with an arm around her shoulder.
A tired elderly man with a short bristly mustache, and wide rimmed glasses looked across from the group and said sadly, "We know, Cap. We know. We are all carrying it with us."
Steve nodded barely and then got up to leave. He had some unfinished business.