Hey guys! I'm back! I've never written a death fic before, so of course, now I go all out. :P Hope you enjoy! Thanks to my good friend pruplup4 for reading this over for me. If any of you are Sherlock fans, go check out her story "Kindred Spirits."
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, the dark, twisted plot.
"So dawn goes down to day,
Nothing gold can stay."
-Robert Frost, Nothing Gold Can Stay
The Avengers had formed three years ago, after Victor Von Doom had incapacitated the Fantastic Four and was making plans to take over the world. SHEILD brought together this group of fractured, fragmented people, and made them a whole. The Avengers.
The Avengers fought well together. They were the ultimate team, but more than that, they were a family.
And as with all things in this world, they couldn't stay very long.
Hawkeye was the first to go.
It was on some mission in Paris. There was some random weapons dealing in France, and some person by the name of Bellua Givrer was becoming a bit worrisome.
It was supposed to be an easy mission, go in, take out the minor weapons dealer, clean up the mess, and get out. And because it seemed so mind-numbingly simple, Hawkeye and Black Widow decided to take the mission as a duo, not as the Avengers. The rest of the Avengers didn't mind.
When Nick Fury said the mission was covert and no external communication was allowed, the Avengers didn't pay much mind. Missions were covert all the time.
Tony and Bruce enjoyed their time in the lab without Clint dropping in from the vents and Natasha persuading JARVIS to let her in. Steve enjoyed being able to use the gym without a master assassin commenting on his technique. And Thor enjoyed not being startled or shushed every few seconds.
A few days later, Steve started worrying. Shouldn't they be back from such a simple mission by now?
Nah, Tony had said. It's Paris, the city of love. The two lovebirds are probably making out on the Eiffel Tower or something.
Steve, although mortified, had accepted the logic behind Tony's words. Life had continued as usual. Master assassins were, after all, unpredictable.
Four days after that, Natasha returned, missing an eye, three fingers, and a toe. She carried Clint back in her tattered, burned, but mostly intact purse.
Natasha spent most of her time in her room after that. She talked to nobody, and wouldn't let anybody touch or even get close to her purse.
One day, as she stood on her balcony, a small hole opened on the bottom of the purse.
Clint's ashes blew away into the wind as the sun peeked over the horizon.
For weeks afterward, Natasha locked herself in her room. Steve, then Bruce, then Thor, then Tony had tried to draw her out. Tony had succeeded in entering the room, but came out without a chunk of his hair, looking absolutely terrified.
Occasionally, anguished shouting was heard from her room. When the words were vaguely intelligible, they were often pleas punctuating the incoherent sobbing and screaming.
Twenty-eight days later, Natasha came out. Her cheeks were hollow, and she was all too thin. Her one remaining eye was dull, her hair limp and lifeless. She didn't say a word, just went down to the gym and destroyed all of the equipment.
After that, she returned to her room. The minute she closed and locked the door, the raging began again. This time, it was obvious that the words were pleas, although nobody could hear them clearly enough to understand what Natasha pleaded for.
A day later, Natasha went to the Helicarrier, presumably to resign.
She came back from the Helicarrier four hours later, her face ashen and her hands shaking.
She returned to her room, and as usual, closed and locked the door. This time, the room was eerily quiet.
The next day, Natasha disappeared.
Exactly one year later, her body appeared on the Helicarrier.
The early morning sun reflected off of her glassy eyes.
Two years after the assassins' deaths, Thor was summoned to go back to Asgard for an important meeting with his father. It was something about these things called Frost Giants.
Fear not, friends! He had said with a jovial smile. I shall return with haste!
They weren't worried. It wasn't uncommon for Thor to leave Earth for days, weeks, or months at a time, then reappear at random times. On one memorable occasion, he had appeared on the couch as they were all watching a movie. This wouldn't have been too memorable, had that couch not been occupied by Tony, lying down.
So for the next few weeks, the Avengers kept an eye out for Thor and avoided lying down on couches. The Tower was always a bit quieter when Thor wasn't around. The first few days, it was appreciated. The rest of the time, it was slightly worrisome.
Thor came back after two months, covered in blood, cape half torn off, armor shredded, eyes wild. He didn't seem to see them or anything around him. And he was mad, although they couldn't figure out why.
So great was his fury that there seemed to be a shadow around him, writhing, screaming and laughing and whispering and crying. His eyes were unfocused as well as wild, and he tried vainly to bat away the demons only he could see.
When his eyes focused, he screamed. His yell was not one of frustration or fear, it was one of rage. Pure, undiluted rage. The Avengers immediately took cover.
Lightning came crashing through the roof of Stark Tower. The blinding flash of light immobilized everybody, sending bright pulses of pain and light through their eyes and into their brains.
When the spots cleared from their vision and they could move again, Thor was gone.
The sweltering noon sun filtered in through the broken windows and roof.
Tony's death was… messy.
After Thor's disappearance, Tony was strangely subdued, as though to let the silence in the Tower expand and engulf everything.
His silence didn't seem to be one of immense, all-consuming grief. No, Tony didn't know Thor well enough for that. And even if he did, Tony didn't show grief like that. He hid it behind layers of sarcasm and wit.
Instead, his silence seemed to be of a contemplative nature. He spent more and more time down in his lab, studying magic and trying to find ways to defend against it.
When asked why, he claimed that Dr. Doom used a lot of magic, and Reed Richards had asked for his help creating weapons. It was a perfectly logical explanation, so Steve and Bruce let it go. Tony had then picked up the cup of coffee he had been making, stared at it for a second, then put it down on the counter and left.
Tony disappeared into his lab for the next five days. There were occasionally muffled thumps and curses that could be heard even three floors up, but Bruce assured Steve that such sounds were normal, even if they weren't usually as loud.
On the fifth day, Steve ventured down to the lab with a few sandwiches and a glass of water. He dropped his tray in horror after seeing the lab.
Everything was destroyed. The walls and floor were nearly completely covered in scorch marks and not a single table was still upright. And in the middle of it all, Tony lay in a pool of his own blood. The source was clear, a clean stab wound in his chest. A shard of shrapnel lay next to him.
Steve knelt and gently picked up Tony's still form. He brought Tony to Bruce, who was in the living room doing who knows what.
The late afternoon sun couldn't warm Tony's body.
After Tony's death, Bruce couldn't stay.
He tried, bless him. For months, Bruce lingered in Stark Tower. When he walked, it was a slow shuffle. His eyes lost their quiet, intelligent sparkle and became dull and almost lifeless. He often disappeared into the lab for days at a time.
Still, Bruce stayed. For Steve. They couldn't imagine what it would be like living alone again, after so much time living, fighting, and mourning together. But Stark Tower held so many memories for both of them. Memories of a quasi-family that was no more. But still they stayed.
Steve no longer had an apartment, and Bruce could no longer fit all his belongings into one small briefcase. All of that had changed after a few meager months living at Stark Tower. Even if they had wanted to leave, where would they go?
Eventually, Bruce couldn't take it anymore. He gathered up a few things and stuffed them into a briefcase. Everything else, he burned on Tony's landing pad.
When Steve asked where Bruce was going, Bruce said, I'm going back to places where I can help. Here, his eyes took on a quiet, thoughtful look. Maybe… Maybe I'll be able to find something.
Steve drove him to the airport on his motorcycle. He heard Bruce asking for a ticket to Africa, or India, or something of the sort.
He later learned that Bruce had settled in Ethiopia, under the shadow of the Erta Ale.
Two months later, the Erta Ale erupted, sending tons of lava and ash to the village below.
Even the Hulk couldn't survive being burned, melted, and suffocated at the same time.
Steve flew over to Ethiopia and found the little house Bruce had been living him. The only relatively undamaged things were a toothbrush and a Norse Mythology book, found in a metal briefcase.
The briefcase gleamed in the evening sun.
Steve realized there was only one Avenger left. He smiled sadly, took his shield from the Helicarrier, and went to Stark Tower's gym to train. All the equipment was dusty and old. When he hit the punching bag, a plume of dust exploded from it, nearly choking him.
Steve put down the bag and left the Tower. There was nothing left for him, or anyone there.
A while after that, Fury called Steve in. He was to fight an army of things called the Chitauri with every SHEILD agent and Army personnel that SHEILD could find.
It was a futile endeavor, and everyone knew it. How were they supposed to be able to hold back an immeasurable number of alien troops with nothing but a shield and a few guns? But they were supposed to try, because humanity didn't stop fighting, even when everything was lost.
Steve looked on grimly as a hole opened in the darkening sky and insect-like aliens began pouring out. He shifted his shield, glancing back toward the troops around him. Their faces, too were grim as they watched the hole open wider and wider and more alien troops descend upon Earth.
Steve lifted his shield, and with a wordless cry, charged. Behind him, a roar went up as the soldiers followed. The Earth itself echoed as boots began tramping, and the Air cried as the alien crafts began speeding through the air.
The Sun plunged below the horizon, engulfing the world in darkness.