Chapter 41: The First Avenger
For centuries invaders had come to Wakanda. The Roman Empire. The Knights Templar during the Crusades. Even Nazis. The Black Panther and the Wakandans beat them back using deadly force each time.
They were no stranger to war, or the paths it took to rebuild a civilization. Although Wakanda had never been conquered until Doom, this time was no different. The Golden City would rise from the ashes scattered over the grasslands of Wakanda, brighter and more beautiful than before.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had been called in almost immediately after the battle's end. A Helicarrier had delivered a battalion's worth of S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel to scour the rubble for civilians caught in the crossfire. The dead had been buried; the wounded had been treated. A large campground had been set up for the refugees, and field tents littered the plains surrounding the ruins of the city.
The heroes in the battle had helped, those who had not required immediate medical attention. Now that the cleanup was over, Quinjets had launched from the Helicarrier to ferry the various heroes who were not from the United States back to their countries of origin. With the Masters of Evil gone, the government the villains had established was no more. Everything could just as easily become as crazy and apocalyptic as when Loki had first invaded the earth. Earth's heroes were needed in their own countries to assist in rebuilding the structures of power and order and prevent corruption.
And the intergalactic treaty regarding leaving the Earth alone still stood. Loki had surrendered himself willingly to Thor after the battle was over, and now that he was in Thor's custody, the Asgardians' time on Earth had run out under the conditions of the treaty.
Dozens of Ravager M-ships dropped down in clouds of dust and Asgardians and Ravager soldiers embarked, some of them turning to pull their comrades inside so the ships could lift again quickly. There was no reason to scramble for it. They'd be ferried up to the larger Eclector that had brought them here, and would take them back home. This wasn't a retreat. They'd won.
The M-ships' downdraft kicked the brown Wakandan soil into the air. Kraglin Oberfonti was shouting at the Ravagers, gesturing side to side with an outstretched arm. "Come on! Shift it, people! Fast as you can."
Thor turned and walked away from the ships back towards the tent city that had been erected in the plains of Wakanda. T'Challa, Shuri, and Ramonda had left the tents and paused in their relief efforts to bid him a formal goodbye.
Thor stopped about six feet away from T'Challa and crossed his arms over his chest, right over left, in the traditional Wakandan salute. "I cannot express my thanks enough to you, King T'Challa, for your complete and total dedication to the capture of Loki," he said.
T'Challa returned the salute. "It is I who should thank you, Thor. Is it King, or Prince?"
"King, I suppose," Thor said. He spoke with hesitation, as if he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was the King of Asgard. "Very large boots to fill. I hope I am up to the task."
"Your Highness," T'Challa said respectfully. "Over the past twenty-four hours I watched as you threw yourself headfirst into a battle, without hesitation or holding back. If not for the arrival of you and your forces, Wakanda and its people would be a footnote in history. And for that, you have my undying gratitude."
Shuri spoke up. "You are always welcome here, Your Highness. You and your friends."
"That may be difficult," Sif said as she approached, pushing a handcuffed Loki forward as she walked. "The treaty regarding Earth's quarantine still stands. But know that you always have friends in Asgard."
Her gaze flickered behind the Wakandan royals, spotting Leonardo standing near one of the tents and watching her. "And know that, someday, we will meet again," she added, half to herself, half to T'Challa and Shuri, and half to Leo, even though she knew he couldn't hear her.
Loki rolled his eyes.
"Well, I suppose it's time to be going home, then," said Thor.
Sif and Loki exchanged a glance. "Oh, no," Loki sighed. "Just this once, don't you suppose we could do without the collar this time?"
"Nope," Sif said, slapping an Asgardian collar over Loki's mouth. The collar was a specially designed device to vocally restrain prisoners, and worked almost the same way a gag did. The collar extended around Loki's mouth and all the way around his head, locking his mouth shut and rendering him mute.
"Until we meet again, King T'Challa," Thor said, raising Mjolnir over his head. A brilliant beam of rainbow light engulfed Thor, Sif, and the now-gagged Loki. The light flashed as the group was teleported back to Asgard, and when the light had cleared and their vision returned to normal, they could see a smoldering rune-shaped pattern that had been burnt into the grass where the Bifrost Bridge had been summoned. It had burnt the grass away, turned it black in places.
Leo stared up at the sky for a few more minutes, staring after where Sif and Thor had disappeared, before turning away to go find something to do or someone to help. Lots of work had yet to be done.
Dust still clouded the skies over Wakanda, obscuring any sunlight. The orange-tinted air had quickly faded to grey as dusk settled in. T'Challa had spent much time in the S.H.I.E.L.D. tent city, aiding his people, directing personnel, and comforting those who had lost loved ones. Now he stood in the mouth of a cave that had been dug into the side of Mount Bashenga, overlooking the landscape below. The mountain had been partially destroyed during the battle between Thor and the World Serpent; the panther statue that had once graced the opening into the vibranium mines below lay in rubble strewn from up here on the mountain all the way down to the ground below.
The heroes hailing from New York had been the last ones to leave, helping until they had done all they could. But the last Helicarrier had left several hours ago to take them back to the United States. Shuri had asked to go, on paper as an "acting diplomat," but really because she wanted to see what life in the U.S. was all about, and to help the Avengers get back on their feet. T'Challa had granted it. Even princesses needed a vacation once in a while.
The lights in the camp in the plains looked like twinkling fireflies. T'Challa was more tired than he had realized. Exhausted, weary from the battle and the energy it had taken from him afterwards. His people needed a strong leader, and though he served that role well, it was—at times like this—taxing to the soul.
As he sat slumped against a particularly large chunk of rock, he heard footsteps from behind him. Turning, he spotted his mother Ramonda approaching from the mouth of the cave. She had come here with him, Shuri, and Nakia. The women had been in Shuri's lab, salvaging what remained and erasing all traces of Doctor Octopus from the lab. He had taken much from them when he had fled; information, projects, things that could come back to bite them in the end.
"Hello, my son," she said. "I knew I would find you here, at the summit overlooking your kingdom."
T'Challa gave a small, tired smile. "I thought it best to get a good look at the devastation Doom caused," he said as Ramonda joined him on the rock. "So that we might know and remember precisely what we will be blamed for in the months and years to come."
"Wakanda's citizens saw us turn on our own people," Ramonda said, her lips pursing. "They don't know why. They will assume the worst, until we can tell them." She let out a long sigh. "If Doom exacted any revenge, however accidental, it was that."
A few moments passed in silence. Then T'Challa inhaled, paused, and said, "They were incredible."
Ramonda turned her head to look at him. "Who?"
"The heroes," T'Challa said. "They were giants, Mama. Titans. They passed by me so briefly. I wish I had gotten a chance to truly learn from them. They could have taught me so much." He glanced at her. "You had no one like them in the times you grew up, Mama?"
Ramonda smiled, fighting back tears. Despite his serious, kingly demeanor, T'Challa would always be her little boy at heart, with dreams of being as great as the heroes he looked up to and respected. "None save the Black Panther, my son," she said. "Maybe if we had, they might have made our world a better place before all this." She looked out over the desolate ruins of the once-great Golden City. "Bast knows they made a difference here."
Wilson Fisk was not a man to put much stock in the truth. It had never gotten him very far, was how he saw it. But three months ago in a town hall in New York, all of that changed when he was elected Mayor of New York City.
When HYDRA had taken over the U.S., his PR agency had made it look as though he was just as trapped in Manhattan as all other New Yorkers. He'd used his resources to "secretly" help the innocent during this time, providing food and medical supplies so that they would remember him once the worst of the crisis was over. He hadn't planned for HYDRA to lose control over the U.S. as quickly as it had, after just shy of fifteen years, but the confusion had only helped him. As the rest of the country burned and rioted, fighting back against the fascists with Captain America and his team at the helm, he'd waited until the last possible second under the Board of Elections' rules to officially announce his candidacy. He had been campaigning for a while, almost four years, but the benefit of not officially running kept a lot of the people who didn't like him convinced that it was all just a big hoax.
It was all so fast. Maybe if people had had more time to think, he wouldn't have won. But they didn't. They remembered a Fisk who had been there for them when nobody else had, who had been helping before Captain America had ever come out of hiding. The other candidates were business as usual, but Fisk had felt different. He'd run as an independent, no party affiliations, and staying out of anyone's pocket.
He was New York. He'd lived it poor, he'd lived it rich. He knew it uptown and downtown. And he had told the people he knew exactly what they needed. There had been plenty of op-eds, plenty of exposes, and even a few protests. Someone had vandalized his tower with nasty graffiti. But by not addressing his status as a crime lord, he'd never had to deny anything. He said people knew what he was, and what he wasn't. And what he could give them. And they remembered the food and medicine and shelter.
It was a stroke of genius, really, turning everyone's preconceptions into a selling point the way he had. He would put out an autobiography once things started to settle, a book that would turn his campaign and life into a New York thing. Living in the city was all about working the system, knowing how to get things done, and bending the rules when you needed to.
And who better to do that than the kingpin of crime?
And then he'd just … won.
As part of his platform, he'd promised to attack the heroes of the city. The city didn't forget easily. They remembered the Chitauri invasion. They remembered the most recent attack, when Loki's army had so easily overrun the entire city and sealed it off from the rest of the country. The "heroes" were more trouble than they were worth. New York didn't need them anymore, with the protection of the Kingpin. Any vigilante or superhero activity would no longer be tolerated, and any "superhero" who wished to continue living within New York City's jurisdiction would have to renounce their lifestyle and un-enlist from hero status using the protocol established by the Sokovia Accords. They would be monitored around-the-clock using a sophisticated security system that Fisk had installed throughout the city using his massive resource pool. Really, it was a way to keep an eye on everyone in New York City. Now Fisk had all the power.
And he was not about to give up the past fifteen years of hard work for a handful of heroes that had somehow stopped the Masters of Evil.
The door at the far end of Fisk's office slid open, and in walked James Wesley, Fisk's right-hand man and confidant. He strode briskly past the large fish tank on the near wall and up to Fisk's desk. "Mister Mayor," Wesley said, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. "We have a request from S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Phillip Coulson to grant passage for thirty-five registered superheroes into New York City."
"Who?" asked Kingpin.
"High rollers, sir," Wesley said. "The Avengers. The Fantastic Four. A few of the X-Men."
"And are they aware of the current restrictions on superhero activity within our jurisdiction?"
"Yes, sir. Director Coulson says they refuse to renounce their heroism or de-register as heroes."
Fisk turned in his chair to admire the fish swimming behind the thick glass tank on the wall behind his desk, his lips twitching in a smirk. Many people viewed Wesley as Fisk's subordinate, or servant, or even lapdog. But Fisk knew better. Wesley was his friend, his confidant. He'd been the face of Fisk Industries before Fisk had gone public, and was in lock-step with Fisk's own desires and ambitions.
Which was exactly why Wesley was now Fisk's deputy mayor.
"Then I believe Director Coulson has his answer," Fisk said, turning back around to his desk.
"Of course, sir," Wesley said, turning and exiting the room.
"No," Tony said, waving a hand dismissively, in frustration. "This is wrong. He cheated somehow. There is no way they picked him. I know it."
"Well, they did," said Phil Coulson. "New York's newly elected mayor is building cases against the superheroes. A clampdown on hero work to get them to de-enlist as heroes and desist all non-governmental exercise of authority."
"How the hell did the Kingpin become the Mayor of New York City?" asked Wolverine.
Director Coulson sat at a round table in one of the many conference rooms in the Helicarrier. He'd broke the news to a small fraction of the total heroes who had come back from Wakanda, who were all in the conference room with him. Tony Stark was sitting at the table in between Wolverine and Jean Grey. Reed Richards and Sue Storm were sitting just opposite of Coulson, and Hawkeye and Black Widow sat to his right. Captain Marvel sat directly to his left. Daredevil, Spider-Man, and Nick Fury stood around the room; there were only so many chairs at the table.
"The Supreme Court already acknowledged the legitimacy of super heroes in the legal framework, as long as they abide by the Sokovia Accords," said Reed Richards. "But now we're criminals?"
"Fisk just wants us gone so we can't take him down," said Hawkeye in frustration.
"I've known Wilson Fisk for years," Daredevil said, leaning against one of the walls. "I'm confident we can build a case against him. Election fraud seems like a good bet. And if not that, believe me, I know where to look for dirt on him. We'll find something."
"That may be," Fury said. "But things move slowly in the courts. Director Coulson has a floating aircraft carrier full of superheroes who, right now, might as well be refugees. Because in that city, down there, you're the bad guys."
There was a moment of silence before Spider-Man asked the question on everybody's mind: "So, what do we do now?"
The heroes looked at Coulson, who was just as unsure as they were. It was Tony who finally broke the silence. "We have the upstate facility," he said. "Outside of Kingpin's jurisdiction now, as mayor, so … nobody will complain to you being there. Pretty large. Enough rooms for everybody. At least until we can get back on our feet and process everything that's happened." He turned towards Coulson. "If you wanna just drop us all off there, we can talk paperwork later."
Coulson gave a nod, silently thanking Tony for his help. "It's settled, then," he said. "We'll set course for the Avengers Facility right away."
The Avengers Facility had grown a lot from the Stark Industries warehouses gracing the banks of the Hudson River in the northern part of the state. Tony had started the facility just after the Ultron Offensive as the headquarters of the newly-reformed Avengers. Most of the staff members were ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents; after the HYDRA uprising S.H.I.E.L.D. had ceased to officially exist and had become a black-ops division of the Pentagon. Unfortunately that had meant downsizing, and with a lot of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents now out of a job, many had jumped at the chance to work for Tony Stark at the Avengers Facility. Tony had also made it a point to hire as many renowned scientists as he could, and over these past few years, the Avengers Facility had become the biggest center of scientific research, weapons development, and military training in the Western world and within the superhero community.
But the facility had been abandoned after the invasion of HYDRA, and laid dormant these many years after being ransacked for anything useful. It would have to be heavily remodeled. There was a lot of work to do, but everyone would pitch in. They needed time to soak in their victory, but also tasks to distract their minds from the losses they'd suffered.
And oh, how they had suffered.
The heroes waited on board the Helicarrier while a Quinjet carried the bodies of Ant-Man, Captain America, Tigra, Blade, and Pigeon Pete to the ground below. Tony had gone down with Hawkeye, Black Widow, Bruce Banner, and Thor to get power running to the facility again, which was handily done thanks to a bit of lightning from the Thunder God. Once that was done, they turned one of the large freezers into a makeshift morgue and stored the corpses inside until their next of kin could be notified.
Then the rest of the heroes were ferried in from off the Helicarrier, while the five Avengers on the ground directed traffic and assigned rooms to them as they landed. The wounded heroes were sent immediately to the medical facilities, as were any heroes or S.H.I.E.L.D. agents with medical experience to treat them.
The entire staff of the Helicarrier was at their disposal; Coulson had made that crystal clear. The Avengers Facility would be up and ready to go within a matter of hours.
Hawkeye was in the shooting range of the Facility. The room was specialized, designed for firearms qualifications, or just training or practice. There was a large window on the far side of the room that had a pristine view of the lake next to the facility.
The range was designed for firearms use, but Hawkeye never used firearms if he could help it. He was practicing using his recurve bow, one of two personalized bows that he always used. He'd done this a thousand times, and the Battle of Wakanda had been more than enough of a warm-up for getting back into the hero game. But one could never practice too much.
He lined his body up perpendicular to the hanging paper outline of a figure that was the range target, envisioning an imaginary line crossing his feet going straight to the target. He straightened his back, placing his feet shoulder-width apart. He attached an arrow to the string, holding it lightly on the string using three fingers on his left hand. Pointing the bow at the target, he pulled the drawstring back towards his face until the bow felt tight and the tip of his arrow was lined up with the head of the target. Then he just relaxed his fingers, and the arrow slipped through, flying off the bow and punching a hole through the head of the paper target outline.
Smiling, Hawkeye pushed the button to bring the target back to the range station and switch it out for a new one. "It feels good to put this suit back on," he said, stretching, He was wearing his stealth uniform, black with a purple tinge. It had still been right where he'd left it in his room here at the Facility when he'd moved out. "Never should have taken it off.
Footsteps caught his attention a moment before an elbow struck his shoulder playfully. "Well, hey, look who got some stones all of a sudden." Black Widow walked past to the next shooting station, wearing a pair of hearing-protecting headphones. She tossed Hawkeye a pair. "Hiding in your mommy's basement time is over, is it?"
Hawkeye sighed, rolling his eyes. "Well, I sure as hell saw this coming." Putting the headphones on, he gestured at the target he'd just shot through. "Still haven't lost my touch though."
Black Widow smirked. "So you can shoot. But can you shoot good enough for a little competition?" She cocked her pistol, loading it, and punching the button to send out a range target from her own station.
Hawkeye chuckled, sending a new target out for his range as well. "Bring it on, Nat."
Although the Vision had technically perished during the Battle of Wakanda, because of his synthetic nature, it was possible that he could be rebuilt. His flesh had been originally made from synthetic tissue generation technology, and the Regeneration Cradle technology that had built him was still in the Facility.
Dr. Helen Cho, a beyond-brilliant genetic scientist, had developed the Regeneration Cradle as a way to help wounded people by bonding human tissue with 3D-printed tissue. She had originally helped in the creation of Vision, and having her here would be a huge benefit, but they had no idea where she was, or if she was even still alive.
Nevertheless, it was nothing that the brainpower of Shuri couldn't figure out. She stood by a series of monitors inside the Avengers Facility's medical bay, pressing buttons and watching the progress of rebuilding Vision on the screens.
"Nano-molecular functionality is instant," she said, arching an eyebrow. She turned to glance at Leo Fitz, who was helping her with the operation alongside his partner Jemma Simmons. "I'm almost impressed."
Donnie stood over the Regeneration Cradle, watching it work. Vision's body lay inside it, in a state of suspended animation. The cradle's printing arm moved back and forth over the large gaping hole in his chest, grafting printed tissue around and inside the wound. "This is beyond cool," the purple turtle said, staring open-mouthed at the process. "I have, like, no words right now."
"Ground-breaking," said Kirby O'Neil, who was also helping in the lab. Once Vision had been re-created, the five of them would have their hands full helping the most wounded among them into the Regeneration Cradle to be patched up. Raph would be among one of the first in line; Simmons' field work had patched the wound Shredder had given him, but it was only a temporary fix.
"Normally," Fitz said, "tech like this would just be used to print tissue and not create a functional body."
"But introduce Wakandan vibranium, pure and original, and one of the most versatile substances on Earth," Shuri said, "and you get a result like this." She pointed at the monitor. "The vibranium molecules are not just compatible with the simulacrum, they're bonding with it. Vision will be a bit more printed tissue and less vibranium than he was before, but he should be as good as new."
They all turned to look out the window of the medbay at Scarlet Witch, who was standing outside the room leaning against the far wall. She'd been standing there ever since they'd brought Vision inside, worried sick about the android but respecting them enough to give them space to work. Doubtless she would welcome the news.
Mikey shook the can of spray-paint before aiming the nozzle at Metalhead's back and pressing down. With a hiss, black spray paint shot from the can and onto Metalhead's back armor, a thin black line appearing over where Mikey had already painted a lime green. Mikey released the nozzle and pressed it again, the thin lines becoming thicker and more even as the graffiti writing took shape. After a few minutes, Metalhead had "Mutants Rule!" spray-painted in black graffiti script on his back, outlined by a mutagen-color green.
"Aw, yeah!" Mikey whooped, putting the can down. "Who says robots can't have sweet tattoos?" He bent down low and gave Metalhead a fist bump; the robot was laying on its stomach so that Mikey could spray-paint the art on its back. "Give it a few minutes to dry up, Metalhead," Mikey said as he walked off.
The orange turtle collected up the used spray paint cans he'd found lying around the facility when they'd first moved in and prepared to take them back to his bunk area. Finders keepers, after all. Besides, it had been a week so far since they'd first arrived at the facility, and nobody had said anything about any missing paint cans, so ...
On his way out of the Facility's workshop, he walked past Daredevil, who was leaning in the door frame watching him. "Hey, Mister Daredevil," Mikey said. "You like my artwork? You were staring at me for, like, at least ten minutes, bro."
Daredevil jumped, as if he hadn't realized Mikey was standing in front of him talking to him. "Oh, uh, I'm sorry," he stammered.
He looks different without the mask, Mikey thought to himself. Daredevil had stopped wearing his mask ever since they'd arrived, showing off a head of thick brown hair and bright eyes that were never closed. "All good, D-Man," Mikey said, fist-bumping the vigilante hero. "If you ever need a custom job, I'm taking commissions. It's kinda hard to lock down a job as a mutant turtle, y'know? Just let me know." He walked off with his bounty of spray paint cans.
Daredevil watched the orange turtle walk off, never taking his eyes away. Mikey was one of the strangest-looking creatures he'd ever physically seen before, and not at all what his voice made him sound like. He'd expected a child, a teenager like that Peter Parker kid. Not a freckled turtle-human mutant.
Daredevil made his way to the nearest exit, trying to get some fresh air. It was funny, he thought. As a blind person, he'd never had to think about where things were. He moved around by instinct. But after Doom had restored his vision, it was different being so ... so filled with sights. And since he still had all of his super senses, he perceived the world with even greater acuity. It was almost overwhelming, which must have been why Doom had done it. He'd been pretty much no help in the Battle of Wakanda after Doom had restored his vision, because of how new everything was. He was still getting used to it all, even a week later.
He rounded a corner and collided with Slash, another mutant turtle but this one much different from Mikey. He was seven or eight feet tall, and a deep turquoise-teal blue in color. "Heads up!" Slash called jokingly as Daredevil's shoulder smacked into his shell-covered chest.
"Oh, sorry," Daredevil stammered as Slash walked past him, on the way to the workout rooms. Daredevil continued on outside, the wind whipping at his face as clouds rumbled overhead.
It had been so long since he'd had sight; he'd lost it as a young boy. It had become hard to remember how things like color worked. Now, all of a sudden, everything had so much texture. The way he'd remembered sight, colors had all just blended together like it was airbrushed and blurred. He hadn't known that you could see the leaves on the trees, that they had distinct lines that separated them. He could see the lines in people's hair and skin when they walked past. It was all so ... beautiful.
He'd grown up in Hell's Kitchen, which at the time had been one of the nastiest areas in the city. He'd hardly ever gotten out of it, and never seen anything but filthy streets and crumbling buildings. He'd lost his sight when he was barely into his teens. He'd forgotten the little of beauty he'd experienced, and had no idea there was so much more.
The New Avengers Facility hadn't been built to accommodate hundreds of people, and it showed. The turtles' bunk area was a spot on the extensive floor area of the hangar, and it still smelled of oil and jet fuel. Karai could see the loading rails that spanned the ceiling.
It didn't seem to bother the turtles, or Splinter; they were all sleeping soundly. But for some reason, she felt restless. She had been tossing and turning for the better part of an hour now, and she finally gave up and decided to stretch her legs. Being careful not to wake the others (which wasn't hard thanks to her kunoichi training), she snuck through the hangar and out into the facility.
There were so many rooms that she hadn't really gotten a chance to look at. When they'd arrived she'd volunteered for cleanup duty, a relatively easy task that had a lot of work behind it. There was the workshop, which had a ton of scientific and technological stuff to run experiments or upgrades on gear. Nobody was sleeping in there, but almost every other room in the Facility was occupied. The living room, the lounge, the conference room, even the outer foyer.
So she was surprised to find that there were others awake; voices coming from the kitchen area. Low hushed voices, but still raised enough to signal an argument. She crept closer to the open kitchen door and listened closely, peeking around the corner. Sam Wilson - the Falcon - and Tony Stark were arguing. Though about what, she couldn't tell yet.
"-I'm telling you, Sam, if it was up to me, it would be different," Tony said.
Sam scoffed. "That's bull, Stark, and you know it."
Tony raised an eyebrow. "That it's not up to me?"
"No, that it would be any different," Sam shot back. "Because it wouldn't and we both know it wouldn't."
"Well that's where I beg to differ," Tony said. "That's why you and everybody else who hasn't registered hasn't been carted up and hauled off to the Raft yet."
"Oh please," snorted Sam. "The Feds know we're here. If Kingpin knows Coulson brought us back, then soon everyone else will too. And last I checked, Coulson's on President Ellis's payroll. And this administration has made it very clear: you register, or you face legal repercussions."
"Sam." Tony's voice cracked. "This is for Steve."
Sam stalked over to Tony and raised a finger, shoving it under the billionaire's noise. "Don't you dare," Sam hissed, his voice taking on a decidedly colder tone. "Don't even think about playing that card right now. You think I don't want to be there? The funeral of my closest friend? You think I don't miss him? I'm grieving too, Tony. We all are. But I can't in good conscience walk out in front of the cameras tomorrow and get tackled by the FBI as soon as I show face. You can't keep us safe. You can't protect us. Even at Steve's funeral. This hurts, Tony. And if it hurts for me, think about the rest of them. Think about Bucky."
There was a moment of silence. Sam was struggling to keep it together, and Tony wasn't saying a word. "That's how I know things wouldn't be different if it was up to you, Tony." When Sam did speak again, it was a much more defeated sound, as if he'd already given up trying. "Because these damn Accords are what you've been fighting for ever since Lagos. You chose them over the team. You chose them over your friends. Over your pride. We just needed to have our rules and regulations, right? Because everything is our fault. Well we've all been on the lam after Zemo got arrested, while you've been able to go on just avoiding it. Just ignoring us. Until you can't anymore. Because now Steve's dead, and we don't even feel safe coming to his funeral. Just because you think you're such a damn danger, and a liability, doesn't mean you have to throw everyone else under the bus with you!"
Sam stomped out of the kitchen, thankfully not using the door that Karai was listening in on. A few moments passed and she peeked again to see Tony leaning against the kitchen counter, a hand over his eyes. Muffled sounds of sobbing were coming from his throat.
She decided she'd listened in way too long on something she shouldn't have overheard, and snuck away.
It was raining in Washington, D.C.
But that wasn't deterring the tens of thousands of mourners and fans who had lined the streets of the nation's capital to get a glimpse of the casket drawn by a single white horse without a rider.
This was a ceremony that, up until now, had only been held for a president. But there were many who felt that the casket's occupant was even more important than any elected official.
The journey came to an end at Arlington National Cemetery, where the six pallbearers—the recently-resurrected android, Vision; Bruce Banner, the Hulk; U.S. Air Force Colonel James Rhodes, also known as War Machine; S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Phillip Coulson; `and of course, Tony Stark, Iron Man—laid the casket to rest at the newly-installed Captain America memorial, a towering statue of Captain America kneeling, head bowed, with his trademark shield in his hands before him. The memorial was really a cleverly-designed mausoleum which would serve as Steve's final tomb.
A S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier hovered protectively hundreds of feet in the air, still visible to those on the ground as a reminder of the disturbing times they lived in. There were many other heroes on board the Helicarrier, watching the ceremony take place from TV screens and monitors. And millions across the country tuned in on their own television networks. Only a few major news networks had managed to make a comeback after HYDRA had been overthrown, and the ceremony was the only thing they would be taping today.
Speakers for the event had been prearranged. Many wanted to speak, but few - like Bucky Barnes or Sam Wilson - felt comfortable attending the funeral. Fewer still knew really what to say. But those who did eulogize made the most of their opportunity, inspiring and motivating the crowd and those watching from home with stories of Steve Rogers' accomplishments, of how amazing his legacy was. Given the amount of time they'd had to prepare - only a week - a remarkable amount of material was available. Memories, stories, and mementos like photos and letters from family members and friends had been gathered and were shown on the large projector screen behind the podium. Sharon Carter's eulogy in particular was well-received.
"I moved into Steve's apartment building for a while after the first Battle of New York," she had said. "We had so many conversations that really shaped who I am as a person today." Her eyes dropped to the podium in front of her briefly. "You know, once, I mentioned, just casually, the calibre of hero he was to the people. I think my exact words were 'You're a hero. An inspiration.' And I'll never forget, he looked me right in the eye and asked, 'Why? Because I'm tall and I have a shield?' Then he went on to tell me about two citizens he had watched during the first Battle for New York, when the Chitauri invaded. A woman who ran through laser fire to help a man without a thought. Another man who pulled a girl away from falling rubble."
She paused to let her words sink in. " 'They didn't need to be inspired,' he told me. 'That was in them all along. It's in all of us. The strong protect the weak. Never forget that.' That was his message to me, and that's my message to all of you.
The applause had been thunderous. Then there were a few more eulogies, and the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" was played by the Air Force Band. Many in the crowd sang along. President Matthew Ellis had been explicitly clear. It didn't matter that Steve Rogers had led the superhero Civil War against the Sokovia Accords. He was still an American hero, and he would be treated as such. That was why the Air Force Band was there, and the U.S. Army Choir, who was scheduled to sing "The Star-Spangled Banner" after the final speeches.
Finally Father Patrick Gorman took the stand. Father Gorman was the former priest of the church that Steve had worshipped in as a young man, and so they'd thought it only appropriate that he oversee the memorial service. He spoke into the microphone, only six words: "Our final speaker today, Tony Stark."
The Tony Stark that took the stand was not the Tony Stark the world knew or remembered. His face was the same, nothing physically had changed much about him - except, perhaps, the deepening worry lines in his face. But he seemed much more haggard than they seemed to recall. Gone was any trace of the mischievous, devil-may-care playboy who threw money at all of his problems. In its place was a beaten and weary man.
Tony trudged forward, steps as heavy as if his feet were encased in concrete, until he had made his way up the platform and behind the podium to cheers and applause from the crowd. He gripped both sides of the podium to steady himself, his head bowed. Some of the heroes watching wondered if he was drunk. They hoped not. Talk about bad form.
Leaning into the microphone, Tony finally said: "Welcome." He paused, blinking as if lost. "I ... um ..."
The crowd leaned forward to catch his next words, his breath low and raspy. But he paused, closed his eyes, and collected himself before he went on. "I'm Tony Stark," he said. "Most of you know me as the Iron Man. I've been asked to say a few words about Steve Rogers. But to be truthful, I would have insisted upon speaking even if I had not been asked." He turned his head, his gaze sweeping the crowd as he continued. "Steve Rogers. Folks called him 'Captain America.' 'Cap.' 'The Man Out of Time.' Once or twice, he was 'The World's First Superhero.' And, believe it or not, 'Capsicle'."
There were a few chuckles from the crowd; it wasn't supposed to have been a joke, but Tony was glad some were able to find the humor in it. "But I got to call him 'friend'," Tony said, his voice cracking. "I take great pride in that." He cleared his throat, covering for the fact that he'd almost just broken down crying in front of millions of people.
"The truth is, it didn't matter what we called him," he went on. "Because it all began and ended with Steve Rogers. He did more than wear the flag. He believed in all the things it stood for. And he actively worked to inspire men, women and children to be the heroes he knew they could be. I speak from experience. Facing a nigh-omniscient artificial intelligence with a plan for world destruction and an army at his back, with no chance of survival, Steve Rogers made me dig deep within myself to find that win or lose, we were all in this together." He blinked back tears that sprang without warning to his eyes. "More than any super-soldier serum that had been pumped into his veins, Steve's real power came from the lives he touched in the decades he was with us. And now, I'd like to show you something unique about the man." He raised his arms in a gesture out towards the crowd, as if beckoning them. "I'd like those of you who served with Steve in World War II to please stand up."
There was shuffling within the military seating area, near the front rows of the crowd, as a handful of aging soldiers struggled to their feet. Leaning on walkers, canes, or the arms of their caretaker nurses, they did whatever they could to stand. There couldn't have been more then eight or nine soldiers altogether, and only a few were recognizable by some of the more experienced heroes.
Timothy "Dum Dum" Dugan, who had turned 111 only a few months prior, was standing firmly leaning on a walking cane. His mustache had long since gone white, the wrinkles under his eyes turning to bags and the skin from his cheeks hanging off like jowls on a bulldog. But he was still here, dressed in his Howling Commandos uniform and wearing his bowler hat, with his Colt M1917 revolver from the war in the holster hanging off his hip.
Gabe Jones was also here, leaning on his nurse for support. The 105-year-old African American veteran was also dressed in his Howling Commandos uniform, wearing a cap that said "U.S. Army Veteran" on it. Even Sergeant Michael Duffy, Steve's drill sergeant from basic training, was here. The man's age and level of muscle deterioration prevented him from standing, but he still sat up straight in his wheelchair as if at attention.
"I know that some of us youngsters think World War 2 was a thousand years ago," Tony continued after the soldiers had stood. "But it wasn't for these soldiers. These Howling Commandos, these men and women he saved from the horrors of the war." He turned his gaze towards the veterans. "Thank you. If you'll please remain standing for just a moment." Turning back to the crowd, he went on: "It was near the end of the war that the world heard the news. Captain America was killed stopping a plane loaded with Nazi explosives headed towards New York City. Imagine. There are some folks here who know the loss we are feeling today from back then. It was a miracle, really, that Captain America would live again. As unbelievable as it sounds, Steve was found frozen in a block of ice as years and years went by without him. Cap's return heralded a new era of heroes. And now I'd like those of you who continue to fight the good fight, as Steve would say, to stand up."
Now the shuffling sound was much louder, as the many superheroes who had fought alongside Captain America, either in past or recent years, stood up. Most of them sat at the front of the crowd, and they were very close to the front podium where Tony stood. "Some of you are famous," Tony said, his eyes glancing over the heroes. "Members of the Avengers. The Fantastic Four. While others, though you might be lesser known, make no less of a difference. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Sharon Carter. And there are more. Many more. Heroes. Friends who wanted to be here, but … for whatever reason … felt they couldn't attend."
What Tony meant by that, of course, were the superheroes who had refused to sign the Sokovia Accords. The "Secret Avengers" - the heroes who had been on Cap's side of the Civil War conflict - sat in the conference room at the Avengers Facility, watching the large TV screen at the end of the conference table. Specifically, they were watching Tony's speech.
"We should've gone," said Bucky Barnes, under his breath.
"Right," snorted Sam Wilson. "So they could arrest us. There. On the spot."
"I think we could've negotiated a truce, Sam," argued Natasha. "This is for Steve, right?"
"We couldn't take that chance," said Scarlet Witch, who was leaning against the doorway watching the TV with the rest of them. "We would have turned his funeral into a damn circus." She turned and left the room, unable to watch anymore because of how upset she was with the whole thing.
The heroes went back to watching the screen. But the longer Bucky watched Tony on TV, rambling on and on about his best friend, the best friend whose funeral he couldn't even attend - the more angry he became. He forced himself to unclench his jaw, but his fist stayed balled up on the table beside him.
"I still think we should've gone," he whispered to himself.
"Now," Tony said out to the crowd. "Look around you. Kind of amazing, isn't it? How we usually see the differences between us, separated by nationality, by color, by religion. And yet here we are all connected. Steve Rogers, that skinny blond-haired kid who grew up on the streets of New York, showed us that the ideals of the America Dream—the great melting pot that can bring out the best in each of us and bind us all together—actually works! And he can keep teaching us that long after he's gone. By telling stories about him, to our children, to our grandchildren. He's gone. Gone saving more than one universe from more than certain doom. He left fighting for what he believed in. But Steve Rogers, Captain America, will never die. This doesn't have to be a day of sadness. We can accept it as a gift of unity and hope. The kind of day Captain America lived for."
The moment was almost cinematic. The applause was almost deafening as Tony walked off the podium back to his seat, and the clouds parted in spots, sending beams of sunlight down over Arlington National Cemetery as if reminding them all that Steve's light would never fade.
After the eulogies, the pallbearers each laid a wreath at the casket, and Father Patrick Gorman gave the benediction. There was a 21-gun salute before the honor guarded folded the flag covering Captain America's casket and handed it to Tony Stark. Then the heroes, veterans, and dignitaries in attendance paid their respects first before the public got a turn to pay its respects. People stood in long lines that stretched many blocks to view the casket and pay their respects to Steve Rogers.
About 5,000 people passed the casket every hour, lasting the rest of the day and even into the night. All in all, over 100,000 paid their respects to Steve's coffin. Finally, members of the armed service fired three volleys and a bugler paid "Taps" as the casket was inserted into the memorial and closed at 3:00 am on the following day.
While thousands upon thousands paid their respects to Captain America, on the other end of the country, another funeral was happening. Scott Lang was being buried at the Mountain View Cemetery across the San Fransisco Bay, in Oakland, California. There had been a brief family and friends service before his interment at the cemetery, and the faces who had attended the service and the funeral were the same. Doctor Pym was there, and his daughter, Hope van Dyne. Jim Paxton, Scott's former rival and Maggie's new husband, was there too. No Maggie or Cassie, though; they were both presumed dead or missing back when HYDRA had first invaded the country. But Scott's best friends - Luis, Dave, and Kurt - had all been notified of Scott's passing, and all of them had shown up.
But Hope and Hank stuck around for long after everyone else had gone. Father and daughter stood, side by side, in front of Scott's grave, comforting each other in a grief-filled silence. Finally Hope asked him, "Is this what it was like when Mom died?"
Hank glanced at her, not answering immediately, so she added, "I never really saw much of you then. I always figured you just didn't care. But I know better now, obviously."
"Try this," Hank said suddenly, almost cutting her off. "It's like somebody shot a cannonball right through your stomach, leaving a great big hole. Eventually, it starts to close up from the outside in, and one day it'll be different. The load won't feel as heavy." He paused. "Of course, then you'll hear a song or somebody will laugh or the wind will blow the wrong way, and the hole will tear wide open again."
Hope was taken aback. Her father had never allowed himself to be emotionally vulnerable around her, let alone share his feelings in such a blunt manner. "I think I liked it more when you were at least pretending to make me feel better," she said, smiling sadly at him.
Hank inhaled slowly. "Believe it or not, it heals back faster after each time," he said.
"And when does it go away?" Hope asked, glancing at her father.
"Want to know why it's called 'depression'?" asked Hank, turning to look at her as he dodged her question. "Because it is depressing. A death isn't like losing a job or getting divorced. You don't 'get over it'. You have to integrate it into your life. Learn to live with it. But … life does get better. "
"Someday?" Hope asked, her voice dropping to a whisper as the tears threatened to return.
"That's the best you can hope for." Throwing an arm around Hope's shoulder, Hank walked his daughter back to their car. "Someday."
In the fading rays of sunlight, a S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier left Virginia airspace and flew back towards upstate New York, back to the Avengers Facility. Below, thousands of people walked past Captain America's coffin to pay their respects. The Helicarrier's long shadows did little to hide their grief, or the grief of the heroes on board who had watched the funeral.
Casey, in particular, was having a hard time keeping it together. He and April were huddled together in one of the vaults on board the Helicarrier, where April had found him crying softly to himself. "He was a hero," Casey sobbed. "Totally selfless and only concerned with others. And what about me?" His shoulders shook as he buried his face in April's chest like a baby. "I wasted my life away! I was selfish!"
Donnie watched the scene silently from the doorway of the vault, a mixture of emotions swelling inside him. Jealousy at April's treatment of Casey, sadness over Cap's death, pity for Casey. But as much as he wanted to walk in and say something, he didn't. Casey wouldn't take it well; it was a wonder he even let April see him like this. He must be really beating himself up over this.
Donnie walked back towards one of the common rooms, where his brothers and Splinter all sat. Raph, Leo, and Splinter all looked up at Donnie as he entered.
"Where've you been?" asked Leo.
"I just ... needed a walk," said Donnie. "Needed to work some things out in my head." He searched the room for Mikey, who was lying on the couch in the corner of the room, his back facing the rest of them. "Do I get a 'welcome back' from you, Mikey?" Donnie asked, trying to make a joke to break the gloomy air over the room.
Mikey stirred, still not flipping over to face them. "Yeah ... uh ... sure ... just ..." He sniffed, a wet sniff that let them all know he'd been crying. "Look, Donnie, my eyes are kinda red and ... I just never thought-"
"It's okay, Mike." Raph reached out and touched Mikey's shoulder reassuringly. "We all miss him."
Kirby O'Neil stuck his head in the doorway and spotted the turtles. "Oh, good, I've found you," he said. "Director Coulson wants to see you on the bridge."
The turtles glanced at each other, unsure of what to expect. Mikey rolled off the couch and rubbed his eyes, and the four brothers headed up to the Helicarrier's bridge. Leo was the last to leave the room, turning back to look at Splinter. The rat was huddled on the ground, hunched, looking old and decrepit. Leo walked back over towards Splinter and sat down. "Everything okay, Sensei?"
"I ... I do not know, my son," Splinter said. "Today's proceedings have given me much on which to ponder. Much on which to reflect. Steve Rogers' legacy was mentioned many times during the funeral today, and if I am honest, I find myself questioning my own legacy."
"What do you mean?" asked Leo.
"It is difficult to explain to one so relatively young and inexperienced compared to me, Leonardo," Splinter said. "I was a headstrong youth, eager to fight first and ask questions later. Oroku Saki killed my wife, and almost killed me, but the universe gave me a second chance. However, I fear I have wasted that second chance. I have abandoned the principles I trained you four from birth on. Redemption of family. Adapting to every challenge, every form of combat. And instead, I have taught you cowardice. Hiding in the sewers, because I was too afraid of losing the four of you."
Splinter inhaled a raspy gasp, and Leo threw his arm around his father, sensing Splinter was on the verge of tears himself. He racked his brain for words, something to say to console Splinter, to tell him that he hadn't failed them all. And then, suddenly, it came to him.
"When Donnie and I were out there, alone in space, all we had was your training," Leo said. "And the lessons you taught us. And because of you, we survived. And not only that, we were able to lead others to survive as well." He rubbed Splinter's shoulder affectionately. "You haven't taught us failure, Father. Far from it. You've taught us resilience, and strength. And Donnie and I, well, we wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for you and what you taught us. We would never have made it back home."
Splinter looked up at his son, tears glistening in his eyes. "Thank you, Leonardo, for your kind words," the rat said, reaching forward and embracing his son. "I see that, even in my old age, my training has not reached its end. There is always a lesson to be learned." He pulled away from the hug, looking Leo in the eye with a stern, serious expression. "It is time we go home, my son. There will be no peace until we fulfill our destiny, until we face it. We must destroy the Shredder, once and for all."
Leo nodded, standing up to go to the bridge.
By the time Leo made it to the bridge, his three brothers were standing at the large window next to Director Coulson and Nick Fury. April and Casey were there, too; Mr. O'Neil must have found them and told them. Raph glanced at Leo as he walked up the stairs to reach the windowed observation area. "What took you so long?" Raph snarked. "You get lost?"
"Just enjoying the view," Leo said. He looked out the window at the thick white clouds. They were above cloud level, so while anyone on the ground saw a thick grey blanket over the sky, up here the view was drastically different. Every shade of yellow, gold, and orange lit up the tops of the clouds, a stark contrast from the bright blue sky above. It was breathtaking.
"You wanted to see us, Director?" Donnie asked.
"We both did, actually," Fury said, turning around to face the four turtles. "I never got a chance to properly thank you."
"Thank us?" asked Leo.
"Yes," said Fury. "I've had my eye on you for a long time, turtles."
"You have?" Mikey asked.
Fury raised his one eyebrow at Mikey. "Are you gonna keep making me repeat myself?"
Mikey swallowed and dropped his gaze. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"Thank you." Fury started pacing in front of the turtles. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s job is to monitor and deal with threats to the planet, wherever they might come from. So when the Kraang Technodrome appeared in the skies above New York and began abducting people back in 2012, we looked into it. That's when we learned they'd been working on a compound to alter the genetic structure of humans, and had been kidnapping scientists for years. They were also behind the Worldwide Genome Project, which we had several agents infiltrate."
"So when did you learn about us?" asked Leo.
Now it was Coulson's turn to speak. "There were reports of mutants stalking the streets of New York City, but we didn't pay much attention at first. Four turtle brothers running around New York City beating up criminals. Vigilantes, yes. Inhumans, no. But after the Technodrome incident, my team started to look into it further. We captured one of the Kraang and interrogated it and learned about you, April."
April's eyes widened. "Me?" she asked.
"The Kraang told us they needed you for their plan to terraform life on Earth," said Coulson. "They also told us about you four-" He turned to the turtles "-and that you were her guardians or protectors or something. After that, I assigned two of my best people, Agents Fitz and Simmons, to keep tabs on you at all times. They both enrolled at your high school with fake backgrounds and fake IDs. Fitz went by the name Jimmy Hammond."
"You mean that nerd I kept trying to get to sign up for hockey?" Casey said. He chuckled. "Nice. I never suspected a thing."
"Simmons assumed the identity of a long-term substitute teacher for chemistry," said Coulson. "Being a highly educated biochemist, she fit this role easily. Of course, S.H.I.E.L.D. had to temporarily abduct your chemistry teacher so we could replace her with our own 'Alanna Smith'."
April's jaw dropped. "No way!" she crowed. "Miss Smith was a spy? She was amazing. And she helped all of us. It was the highest class average for chemistry our school had ever seen."
Coulson smiled. "Well, Agent Simmons took her role very seriously. But we could only keep eyes on you for so long. April, you stopped going to school regularly, and so we had to find another way to keep constant surveillance on you. We lost track of you after the Kraang terraformed New York City. HYDRA had just made a huge bid to take over S.H.I.E.L.D., and we didn't know who we could trust. My team had our hands full trying to track down and stop the Clairvoyant, but once Fury made me Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., we were working around the clock until you took back the city."
Leo couldn't believe what he was hearing. Coulson and S.H.I.E.L.D. had been in the background from the very beginning? "Really? You were there the whole time?" he asked.
"When Victor took that video of you four fighting Kraang soldiers and uploaded it to the internet, who do you think erased it from every system on the planet?" Coulson asked him. "Who do you think cut off Joan Grody's broadcast when she caught you guys on live television? Who do you think was playing cleanup for every new mutant you turtles created?"
Nick Fury had been typing on his phone, but now he held up the screen to show a picture of a S.H.I.E.L.D. file. The file detailed a grotesque mutant, and the picture was just as creepy. A pink octopus body with eight tentacles, a snake-like neck with a fang-filled mouth and forked tongue, and two purple stalks extending from his head with eyeballs on the ends.
The turtles all leaned in. "No way!" Raph said.
"Is that Justin?" Mikey asked. "It is!"
Fury's brow furrowed at Mikey's name for the mutant, but he didn't mention it. "You turtles made a pretty big mess when you dropped that shipment of mutagen canisters all over the city from the back of a Kraang stealth ship. S.H. I.E.L.D. has a lot of those mutants still in custody that you probably don't even know exist."
The turtles were taken aback. They stared at each other in open-mouthed shock, muttering "Whoa…" in disbelief.
"You four were sloppy," said Fury. "Really sloppy. That's why I didn't contact you before, or why I still don't know if I trust you. But you get results, and I respect you for it."
Vision raised his hand to the door and made a fist, rapping lightly on it three times. Wanda hated when he just phased through the walls without any warning. On a few occasions it had led to a rather ... awkward confrontation. And he knew she was upset because of not being able to attend Steve Rogers' funeral; it wouldn't help any to go barging into her room.
Soft footsteps on the other side of the door were followed by the door mechanism unlocking and the door sliding open. Wanda's eyes were red, but she managed a small smile at the sight of Vision. "Come in, Vis," she said softly.
Vision floated through the doorway as Wanda went back to sit down on the edge of her bed. "I'm sorry you didn't feel safe attending the funeral," he said. He'd run a thousand conversation openers through his head on the way back to the New Avengers Facility, and this was probably the best one.
"I thought we were close," Wanda said. She was looking down at the floor, speaking in soft tones as if to herself. "After that incident in Lagos he'd come and talk to me. He took a lot of the blame for what happened. Every time something happened, something that wasn't supposed to, he thought it was his fault. He said I was the only one who understood him."
She looked up at Vision, tears running down her cheeks. "I thought … I thought we had a connection," she said, her voice cracking. "It was my fault Steve died. I wasn't supposed to let anyone else out of the shield. Even though there were others with vibranium weapons who could have hurt Doom. But I didn't open the shield. And he saved me. He saved all of us. So it's my fault that he died."
She broke down crying, covering her face with her hands as if trying to stem the flow of tears from her eyes. Vision sat down on the bed next to her and wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight. He wasn't used to feeling emotions; his processors could barely handle it. But now, there was one emotion that he could feel, and felt all too clearly. He had felt it from the moment he'd picked up Steve's coffin today and carried it to the memorial.
It was the feeling of complete and utter sadness.
"You grieve," Vision said. Whether he spoke to Wanda or merely vocalized his own thoughts, he wasn't sure. But he kept going. "I, however, am an outsider. An android. No one has bothered to ask me how I feel about it all. You all assume I am machine and do not feel."
Wanda stopped crying, looking up at Vision. Her face was an artist's palette of expressions, from remorse over not validating Vision's feelings to care for his well-being. "Well, I feel," Vision said, meeting her gaze as a strange liquid began leaking out of his eyes. "I grieve."
The liquid continued to flow as he shut his eyes. Now it was Wanda's turn to wrap her arms around him, rocking back and forth softly in a comforting motion.
So this was how it felt to cry.
"To be honest, I'm surprised I found you here," said Bruce Banner, making his way down the small dirt path to the edge of the lake outside the New Avengers Facility.
Tony Stark was standing on the wooden dock stretching out from the shore, watching the sunset reflect off the rippling surface of the lake. He turned, watching Bruce approach.
"I never took the billionaire showboat Tony Stark for a nature guy," Bruce said as he reached Tony.
"I guess I'm just full of surprises," Tony said, looking back out over the lake. "Y'know, I've really been thinking about getting away from all this hero stuff and just retiring. Give up being Iron Man, but still stick around to supervise whatever. There's this place I was looking at for a while, a little mountain cabin out in the woods. I've already drawn up the plans for turning it into an eco-compound. Zero carbon footprint." He paused, and a silence settled over the lake for a few moments. "I came really close to cashing in on those retirement benefits, Bruce," Tony said.
"Wait, there are retirement benefits?" Bruce chuckled.
"It's a 401(k)," joked Tony. "You didn't get the envelopes? Pretty sure they were sent to everybody." The two men laughed for a few moments. Tony let out a heavy sigh. "But now retirement just feels wrong, what with ... with Steve gone."
"Yeah," Bruce agreed. It still felt weird to say that, but it was true. "Hey," he said, patting Tony on the shoulder. "You killed that speech today."
Tony shook his head. "There were things I wanted to say in front of everyone, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. I know that if our roles were reversed, Steve could've. If, God forbid, the funeral had been for someone else, he would have helped me through it. I wanted us all to be there that day. You, Thor, Clint, Natasha. Our teammates. Our friends. They are all, one way or another, lost to us. And now I've lost him too." He sighed again, and shrugged. "Maybe … maybe there was a reason he had to be on the other side of every argument. How he could be my rudder, steering me when others couldn't. I don't know if I can do it without him. I certainly won't do it as well."
Bruce took his hand off Tony's shoulder, and the two of them looked out over the lake. The sunset had turned the surface of the lake into a shining golden pond that looked as though they could skate across it like ice.
After a long silence, Bruce spoke. "You know what the invasion reminded me of?"
"A really bad recurring nightmare?" Tony guessed.
"It reminded me of the story of how the Avengers first got together," said Banner. "An insanely dangerous out-of-control situation that no one of us could have ever handled alone. But the group . . . a group assembled by fate. Is there any other word for it? A group of extraordinary people, people you would never think to put in a room together, people willing to toss aside how much they personally have on the line. People instinctively doing what they do best. Giving no pause to the gravity of the fight in front of them. And just when you weren't sure which way the fight would go, the team comes together. And it's done."
Tony looked at him. "You want to assemble a new team of Avengers?"
"No." Banner returned Tony's stare. "I'm saying that the new team already assembled itself."
Tony turned away. "The glory days—they're over, Bruce. They're—"
"Just like the original, this team came together on its own."
"Bruce—"
"And now there's things that need to be done. And we need the team together to do it."
"Bruce, we don't even know half of these people," Tony said.
"Yes, we do," said Bruce. "When we disbanded the Avengers after the Accords—listen. There's this balance to the city, to the world, that we, inadvertently, by ending the Avengers, we threw the balance out of wack. A team needs to be in place. Things like this—what happened—this is exactly why there needs to be an Avengers. If after all this is over, and the old Avengers don't want to, if they can't, then let's try the new ones. Like we always have."
"That's all great, Banner, but I can't afford to rebuild Stark Tower right now," said Tony. "I can't afford to finance—"
"Then don't," Bruce interrupted. "No more salary. No more tech. All that. We never needed it. Just a place to meet, and—"
Tony groaned. "The politics of it all."
"No more politics," said Bruce. "Just us. No U.N. No governments. Just us helping people that need help. The big problems."
They fell silent again. Finally Tony said, "You really shocked me with this. Let me think about it."