Okay, another Avengers fic! I can't help myself at this point. Alas, I do not own anything by Marvel, it all belongs to Stan Lee and his artists. Anyways, enjoy!
It Never Gets Easier
Steve hated funerals, he always had. They were meant to be a form of closure but all that closure was just a solidification of the fact whoever going in the ground was never coming back. He wanted to be back at Stark Tower, commiserating in the gym with a punching back and a bottle of Jack. Damn Bruce for guilt tripping him into coming. "He would have wanted you there," he had said, and there was not a doubt in the world the words weren't true. The now battered trading cards shuffled in Cap's pocket proved it.
He expected more people to pay their respects to Phil's grave, however, it seemed most of the other SHIELD agents felt the same loathing for the ceremony as he did. Fury and Agent Hill had showed up, but hadn't bothered to change out of the same clothes they always wore. A few other coworkers arrived in black suits, but none of them had even the dampest eye. And then, of course, were the Avengers. It was strange to see them all out of their elements. Tony was utterly serious with hands entwined with a weeping Pepper and head bowed solemnly, only nodding every once in a while in response to a faint whisper from Bruce, who couldn't stop shifting in his seat. Thor seemed incredibly uncomfortable in his new suit as he continued to fidget with the tie and tried not to creak the folding chair too much with his weight. Natasha and Clint had matching faces that could have been seen as morose of void of emotion all together. Every few seconds during the sermon he would absentmindedly tug on the hem of her silk dress, to which she would only blink a few extra times. The two of them knew him longer than anyone else, and Steve could only imagine what silent signals they were sending to each other about his passing.
As the pastor closed his bible and the four men from the cemetery staff began to lower the coffin into the six foot hole, Steve slowly made his way to the open grave. He pulled the cards out of his pocket, swiftly followed by a Sharpie. He rested one against his knee, being careful to write in his best cursive.
To Phil Coulson- You will always be a hero. Steve Rogers, your Captain America
"I'm sorry I'm late," he whispered as he released his hold on the cards and watched them flutter into the grave like moths with broken wings. He looked over to see Fury giving him a stiff nod before walking away with Hill. Steve then turned to his partners, now standing behind him expectantly.
"I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready for a drink in Phil's honor," he said as optimistically as he could.
"I have to agree. He would have wanted us to celebrate his life, not mourn it," Bruce supported with genuine perk.
How he could remain so positive through this whole thing was a mystery to Steve. Hell, how could anyone do it? Steve had been a soldier, he had lost men, he had seen his best friend die, so why was this so complicated.
As they all wandered back out to the street in search of a good bar, everyone seemed to relax just a little bit. Everyone except Steve. It never ceased to amaze him how the world just kept turning, refusing to acknowledge brave men's deaths. News presses stopped everywhere when a celebrity or politician stopped breathing, and yet their whole world was saved by a man's courage, no one even blinked. No one even knew.
"You don't look well, Cap," Bruce commented, coming up behind him.
Steve huffed. "Really? What gave it away?"
He paused before adding, "How many funerals have you been to? How many people have you lost?"
Bruce laughed a little. "My fair share."
"Does it ever hurt less?"
A strong hand landed comfortingly on his shoulder. "Never. No matter how many men and women you bury, it never changes. You can only learn to cope and think of what they would have wanted to see."
"So it never gets any easier?"
"No. It never gets easier."
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