Today marks one year since Thanos defeated the Avengers. For civilians, it's a grim anniversary—remembered as the day so many turned to dust. For politicians and the military, it's a mark of failure. But for the Avengers, it's a reminder of all they've lost: loved ones, half the universe, and parts of themselves that may never return. Each Avenger remembers it differently, but they share the same pain and the bitter thought that maybe—just maybe—they shouldn't have lost.
Tony
At the Stark lakehouse, all was calm. Only Tony and Pepper occupied the cozy living room, nestled together on the couch in peaceful silence. Pepper lay against him, absorbed in her book, while Tony scrolled through his phone, his mind drifting elsewhere.
As he thumbed through pictures, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. Most of the images captured moments with the Avengers—laughter, camaraderie, hope. Absent-mindedly, he added them to a separate album titled Avengers (Family).
Then, he stumbled upon a cherished photo of him and Peter Parker, proudly holding an upside-down Stark Internship plaque while playfully "bunny-eared" each other. A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips. Without thinking, he saved it into another album titled The Spider Kid. He could already picture where to frame it, a little reminder of joy amidst the sorrow.
But the weight of the day settled heavily on him. Memories of old missions flooded his mind, transitioning to the final battle against Thanos in Wakanda. Afghanistan, sleepless nights, and near-death experiences crashed over him like a tidal wave. His breathing quickened, becoming shallow and erratic.
"Hey," Pepper's gentle touch on his arm broke through the fog. "You okay?"
He exhaled, a grateful smile playing at his lips. "Yeah, just…thinking about the past."
Her gaze softened. "It's a tough day. Want to talk about it?"
Tony shook his head, the weight still heavy. "Not right now. I'll check in on Rhodey and Natasha later." He absentmindedly stroked Pepper's ever-growing belly, pushing thoughts of the Avengers away. "For now, I need to be strong for you and our family."
Steve
Hit after hit, punch after punch, Steve's fists slammed into the punching bag. Eventually, it split open at the seams, spilling sand onto the floor. Mechanically, he replaced the bag, familiar with the routine from years of practice. As he finished hanging the new one, a wave of déjà vu washed over him.
He threw a half-hearted punch, hoping the memories would fade with each hit. But they returned relentlessly: flashes of Peggy, Bucky, the Howling Commandos, the war. New York, Sokovia, the airport—then the final battle against Thanos.
Each memory piled on, becoming too heavy to bear. Breathless, Steve paused when the bag flew off its hook again. Taking deep breaths, he surveyed the empty gym, sand accumulating everywhere. "Great, just what I needed," he muttered. He decided to clean up tomorrow.
As he walked through the hollow hallways of the Avengers compound—once filled with laughter and life—he realized he needed to escape this place and its memories if he ever hoped to move on.
Remembering that Sam was in a therapy group before moving away, Steve resolved to seek it out. "Time for a change," he murmured to himself, the thought of getting an apartment across the Hudson feeling both liberating and daunting.
Thor
New Asgard had become a sanctuary, a place of healing for his people, thanks to a small plot of land gifted by the Norwegian government. The Asgardians now had a home of their own, even if still bound by a few basic Norwegian laws.
"After I failed them, they still offered my people a place to live. Why?" Thor questioned, his voice heavy with guilt.
Korg, ever optimistic, replied, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, mate."
Thor tried to find peace in New Asgard's simple routines, but the specter of his failure lingered. A year later, that sentiment remained unchanged. He reflected on his experiences on Midgard, the vast spectrum of people he'd encountered. It mattered not their race, religion, or language—what separated them was their heart.
From his first visit to Earth long ago to the diverse faces of the 21st Century, he had seen it all. Some were selfish, others selfless; a few were even worthy enough to wield Mjolnir. That rare honor took him back to an unforgettable moment: the after-party at Avengers Tower, when Steve had moved the hammer, shocking everyone. Thor realized then that Steve had held back, sparing his pride.
He glanced at Stormbreaker, the axe that now replaced Mjolnir, and felt like the least worthy of all the Avengers. Tightening his grip, he took a swig of beer. The haunting phrase echoed in his mind: "Should have gone for the head."
"Or at least the arm," he muttered bitterly, the words feeling like a tattoo etched into his soul. It was a painful reminder that his failure led to the deaths of trillions, all while Thanos watched with a smug grin.
The urge for revenge stirred within him—revenge for everyone who died, for Asgard, for Loki, and for everyone hurt by the Mad Titan. When the guilt became too much, he took another swig and returned to his game of Fortnite with Korg, desperately pushing back the thoughts that gnawed at him.
Bruce
Rubbing his eyes, Bruce let out a yawn. Adjusting his glasses, he glanced at the date on his phone. He hadn't had a good night's sleep in days—no, make that a year. The realization hit hard, heavy like a brick. A full year since the battle in Wakanda.
For 365 days, he'd tried talking to Hulk, reaching out to the other half of himself he barely understood. Perhaps he didn't know his alter ego as well as he thought.
Taking a deep breath, he abandoned his research and grabbed the yoga mat next to the door, dimming the lights. Carefully rolling it out onto the floor, Bruce settled down, folding his legs under him. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind.
The world drifted away, leaving Dr. Banner alone with his thoughts. As the quiet settled in, he began to reflect on memories—first, the fond ones of time spent with the Avengers. An unexpected warmth flooded him; they had been his friends, the family he'd never realized he had until they were gone.
But then, darker memories crept in: his father's anger, Ross's betrayal, his rampage through New York, and Thanos's brutal strength. The pain from his father's abuse was nothing compared to the guilt of pushing away the Avengers, the very people who accepted both sides of him. "I had to run off to another planet, didn't I?" he cursed himself.
Bruce thought back to Sakaar, remembering everything he lost—twice over—since that fateful accident. Strangely, he fixated on losing everything twice, yet never on gaining anything. He recalled how he had gained friends among the Avengers, how they had offered him companionship for both sides of him.
He had everything he needed right in front of him, yet he missed what had been staring him in the face for so long. As good memories mingled with the bad, he recalled moments spent with the Avengers—working with Tony, laughing with Thor, heartfelt conversations with Clint and Steve, and the fleeting, tender moments with Natasha.
When Bruce finally opened his eyes, he gasped. His mind raced, absorbing the whirlwind of memories Hulk had carried alone. They had both been carrying too much for too long. Deciding Hulk deserved a break, Bruce left his lab, determined to find himself again and , if given he chance,reconnect with the people he had pushed away.
It had only been a year since the Decimation, but for the survivors, it felt like an eternity. Today was a day of loss for civilians, but for the Avengers, it was torture. Each of them carried on, knowing that if they stopped, Thanos would have won in a way that went beyond the Snap. They all lost, but they understood: if they didn't try to live, Thanos might as well have killed them all. In time they would find a way to bring everyone back–they had to–but for now they would have to stay strong and protect what's left of the world until that day comes.