Chapter Text
It was weird to go back to San Francisco without a home to go to. It wasn’t the first time this happened; Scott was definitely homeless for a short time after being released from prison, and while these circumstances were overall better, it still felt weird. After Scott was numbered as one of the Ashen two years ago and since Luis actually was one of the Ashen, the house they lived in had been cleared, and everything in Scott’s name sat in one of the numerous storage units in the city. Those storage units were built after the Decimation to store everything left behind by the Ashen. The units were built by the city as a big gesture of hope that someday, somehow those who were lost would be brought back, and many other cities in the nation took part in the same gesture.
Scott was not only thankful for that gesture but also for the fact nobody demolished the units after two years of that hope being unanswered. Before he left for the Avengers’ compound, he didn’t bother with the majority of the stuff inside his unit but just grabbed some essentials like clothes and things he knew he needed. Other than that, he left everything else alone. Now he still didn’t see the need to do anything with his belongings. He had nowhere to put them anyway, and he was too tired to care about them. Exhausted, drained, and worried sick, Scott just wanted to sleep.
He broke two records during that epic battle: his size and the time he spent as a giant, and they both really took a toll on him. That on top of his worry and dread, he barely had enough energy to function. Since he was homeless now, Hope led him to Cassie, Maggie, and Jim’s house and left him in their care, extracting the promise from him that if he needed anything, he would let her know. “I really think she’ll be okay, Scott,” she assured quietly but confidently. “She’s in good hands. You’ll hear from her in no time.”
Scott didn’t answer but simply mustered up a small smile and nodded. He felt awful and so in need of nourishment and sleep that he felt physically sick. At this point, the orange Rory gave him was the only thing that kept him from passing out so far, but he needed more essentials. Definitely sleep first. Food second.
He remembered Maggie hugging him and then asking him if he was okay and informing him with great concern that he looked like hell, but he didn’t remember his reply or if he replied at all. He remembered Hope telling Maggie something, but he was too consumed by Cassie’s warm hug and the relief in her tone as she welcomed him back to notice what Hope said. “I’m glad Rory kept her promise,” Cassie whispered, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. The last thing he really remembered before his exhaustion overtook him was him asking for the nearest place to crash and wondering aloud what he would do if Rory didn’t survive.
Over three days later, Scott very slowly awoke, groggy and wondering how long he’d been asleep. “God, what year is it,” he groaned in sleepy confusion. He kept his eyes closed as his sense of feeling and sense of self came back to him. Scott’s brain was still too drowsy to remember exactly what happened, but he figured he must have gone giant again. Nothing else had proven to make him feel like this after sleep. His stomach growled loudly like something was pounding against his insides demanding to be fed sustenance, and he moaned, debating upon just rolling over and going back to sleep instead.
He registered the quiet creak of a door being opened before hearing a soft voice. “Daddy?”
That made Scott slowly open his eyes and tilt his head towards where the voice came from to see Cassie’s head poking into the room. As he did so, the quick glance around reminded Scott he was at the Paxton residence, more specifically in their guest bedroom. Then every other memory was revived after that. He offered her a small, sleepy smile. “Hey, Peanut,” he greeted quietly. “You can come in if you want.”
He slowly curled up more, careful not to disturb the warmth and comfort he already had under the blankets, as Cassie slipped into the room and laid on the bed beside him. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”
Scott hummed as he closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. “Growing really big is always rough, but I’m okay.”
Cassie nodded but remained quiet for a moment before asking carefully, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You were really sad before you fell asleep. You’re sad right now. Sad and scared.”
Scott opened his eyes halfway and lazily raised an eyebrow. “Did you get a new superpower in the past two years?”
Cassie smiled softly and shook her head then shrugged. “Well, not exactly. Mom says I’m an empath like her. Sometimes we can feel other people’s emotions and stuff, especially when they’re strong.” Then she added quietly, “Like yours.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot your mom can do that. It’s crazy how spot on she can be sometimes. You can do that too?”
She nodded and said, “I’m doing it right now.”
She wasn’t wrong. Sleep did not remove the emotions from him nor make them less heavy as they were before. Scott was tired enough he didn’t dream, and he was thankful for that. The way he was feeling, he knew any dreams he would’ve had would not have been pleasant. He disturbed his warmth and comfort enough to rub his hands over his face a few times before returning to his initial position. “You’re right, Peanut,” he admitted. “I am sad. And scared. And really tired. But I’ll be okay in the long run. Hey, has anyone tried to get a hold of me while I was asleep?”
“Tony Stark’s left a lot of messages for you on Jim’s phone.” She scooted closer to her dad and curled up more before asking gently, “What happened to Rory? Are you sad and scared for her?”
Scott sighed before answering, “She got hurt. She got hurt really bad, Peanut, and I just hope she’ll be okay.”
“Oh. Are you afraid she won’t make it?” He didn’t reply. He just curled up more under the blankets as his chest tightened with the fear of that possibility. Even if he wanted to reply, the lump in his throat made it hard to speak anyway. Cassie must have sensed his fear growing, and she scooted even closer to him to comfort him. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
Cassie was close enough now that he pulled his arm out from under the blankets and hugged her tightly to him, and she returned the hug. He couldn’t bear to speak anymore about the possibility of Rory dying, so instead he asked, “Do you know what those messages Tony sent said?”
Cassie shook her head. “No, I don’t. Sorry. Jim doesn’t even know how he got his number.”
Scott couldn’t help but chuckle. “He’s a certified genius. Could probably do that in his sleep.”
“Dad,” she asked after a moment, “why are you here?”
“I don’t have a place to live right now.”
“No, I mean why aren’t you with Rory?”
“I wanted to see you. And Hope thought it would be good for me to be here with you guys and get some rest and stuff.” She didn’t reply to that, so he added, “And Rory’s got a lot of people helping her and looking after her. There’s nothing I can really do for her right now anyway.”
Cassie remained quiet for a moment longer before suggesting, “I think you should be there with her.”
“I should be with you ,” he insisted. “I’ve been away from you too long.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Daddy. You brought Mom back, and I’ve got her and Jim here. And I know you made it and that you’re okay and that you’ll come back soon. So I’ll be okay. But I think Rory needs you, and,” she added quietly, “I think you need her too.”
Five days had passed since the weary and worn out Doctor Strange and Shuri emerged from surgery and announced with relief that Rory would live. Ever since then, she had slept in a dormant state, partially induced by some of Doctor Strange’s healing magic. “It’s not quite a coma,” Stephen had explained to the Avengers waiting anxiously in the Wakandan duplex, “but a deep enough sleep to help her recover faster from the exertion and trauma. Give it a few days, and she’ll wake up on her own. Trust me,” he added as he read the cynical faces of the group, “it definitely won’t be another two years.”
After the battle while everyone was waiting on news about their fallen friend, the possibility of her dying filled the air with a quiet dread, and it especially fueled a fear and pain in two of them in particular. Scott had gone back to San Francisco to check on his loved ones and recover from his time as GiAnt-Man, then after four days of being gone, Scott called Tony to see if Doctor Strange would be so kind as to portal him to Wakanda to be with them while they waited. Doctor Strange was so kind to do so, one of the many gestures that made Scott feel ashamed for ever mentally calling the man a sonofabitch in moments of frustration.
Meanwhile, Tony spent his time pacing the floor like a caged tiger, fidgety and restless and exhausted, with a paradoxical hodgepodge of emotions slamming all around his insides like bumper cars. Gratitude. Guilt. Relief. Anxiety. Joy. Sadness. They won. How much did they lose?
One of the more tragic things about war is, after it’s over, there are those who still feel like they were in the midst of it, like it was their new state of being. For a war that was as peculiar as the Infinity War, the battles from 2018, the two-year period of endlessly trying and failing to repair the desolation, the Quantum Heist, and the Battle for Earth left the Avengers in a miserable state. The war was over, and they had won. But they didn’t feel like they won. Some of them poured so much time and energy searching for a way to reverse the Decimation. Some poured so much time and energy into attempts to move on and figure out what they could do for the present moment and solve the problems the Decimation’s aftermath had created. A few tried to do all of the above all at once.
But ultimately, they all spent so much of themselves trying to understand and cope with a tragedy so beyond common moral decency, none of them could barely remember how to live before the Decimation. Oh, they remember what life was like before the Decimation, but they didn’t quite know how to leave the horrors of Thanos behind and live. They didn’t even know if they could. There were too many internal wounds they didn’t know how to heal.
On the sixth morning after the Battle for Earth, Tony, Natasha, and Steve, each unable to rest, found themselves wandering out of their respective rooms simultaneously and ended up going to the kitchen to make coffee before the first morning rays began to reveal themselves. Since Tony claimed he knew how to brew better than any other Avenger, he took it upon himself to make the coffee. His companions were too weary to put up a fight but not too tired to joke with him about it.
“You sure do know how to make a really rich blend, Tony,” Natasha muttered with a playful smirk.
“And make it strong, too,” Steve suggested with a smirk to match Natasha’s. “You know, pack an iron punch.”
“You guys are blowing my mind with your coffee jokes,” Tony commented in a deadpan manner. “I’d laugh, but ya know, I’ve heard these jokes more than once in my Avenging career.”
“I’m just hoping this coffee maker works as well as the one we had at the compound,” Steve continued, ignoring Tony’s remark. “My favorite thing about it was how it had the same paint job as your suit.”
“You and I saw two very different coffee makers.”
“What mark was it, Tony?” Natasha asked, fighting the slight upturn of the corner of her lips. “Mark XII?”
“Just Mark I thank you very much,” Tony answered with an eye roll as he inspected the Wakandan coffee maker. “Turns out I got that one right the first time. Plus, it’s not so much the machine, it’s the person working it, and let’s face it. I’ve got the magic touch. Oh come on, guys,” he added when he got good-natured snickers in response, “who kept asking me to make the coffee?”
Steve and Natasha shared a glance before turning back to him and answering simultaneously, “Rory!”
“No! The correct answer is ‘literally everybody.’ But thanks for playing.”
“Okay,” Steve countered, “but out of all of us, who asked you the most to make the coffee?”
“Good ol’ Rory,” Natasha answered for Tony.
“Who partook in the drinking of my coffee though?”
“Oh, definitely everybody,” Steve answered, “because you make good coffee.”
“And that’s the tea,” Natasha quietly added.
The trio laughed for a moment longer before the sounds died out, and the cloud that had settled on them in the past few days swelled again and dampened their moods. Natasha sighed and leaned against the kitchen counter before admitting, “I don’t know about you boys, but that was the first time I haven’t felt miserable in a while.”
“Yeah,” Tony agreed with a strain in his voice. “I can’t really figure out why we’ve all been miserable though.” He shrugged as he poured the coffee grounds into the machine. “I mean, we won. Thanos and his armies are gone; we brought everyone back; and we all managed to survive.”
Steve began looking in the cabinets for three mugs, restless despite feeling exhausted. “So you think she’ll wake up?”
Tony sighed, fighting the urge yet again to run hi s hand over his own burn scars. Rory did save his life, but the short time he held the Stones alone was enough to cover his right arm with burns resembling lightning webbing over his skin. His arm still hurt, and his skin felt tight, dry, and itchy as it tried to heal. Tony was thankful for the balm one of Wakandans gave him. He thought the term ‘miracle drug’ was dumb, but the stuff from Wakanda really did work some wonders.
He turned from the coffee maker and faced Steve and Natasha as he answered the question. “Yeah, I do. Rory’s tougher than most of us thought, including herself I think. Don’t get me wrong. Am I worried to death about her? Absolutely. Like she was my own kid sister. Who knows what kind of state she’ll be in when she wakes up because of all this trauma and the pressure that was put on her and the sacrifice she made. I can imagine the PTSD and anxiety that could arise from that. Trust me, I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
Natasha and Steve shared a knowing look before letting their eyes drop. “Yeah,” Steve said quietly, “we know.”
“We know very well.”
“You know, Tony,” Steve said after a silent moment, “as far as families go, I don’t think the Avengers have been the best one as far as support and unity go.”
“Oh well, you know,” Tony said quickly as he turned his back to them and focused on the coffee maker, “dysfunctional superhero dynamics and all that, coming from separate lives and backgrounds and trying to build something off that can be tough, especially since our job description specifically says something about fighting.”
“It doesn’t say anything about each other,” Steve interjected.
“Yeah, but don’t families do that too?”
“Not like how we do it,” Natasha commented.
“The point is,” Steve stated, “the Avengers were supposed to be something more for the world, but they were supposed to be something more for each of us too. And I think in trying to be more for the world, we overlooked what we needed to be for each other.”
Tony shot Steve a questioning glance. “What exactly is this?”
“It’s an apology, a long overdue apology. As long as we’ve been in Wakanda, I’ve been thinking about this.” Steve paused then amended with a sigh, “Actually, I’ve been thinking about this a lot for the past few years, how I’ve butted heads with you and made a mess of a lot of things without meaning to. Buck always said I was stubborn,” Steve said with a soft chuckle. “Then Rory comes in suddenly and, for lack of better wording, sheds some light upon our dysfunctional superhero dynamics as you put it, and I realize how a part of that lies on me. I haven’t been the best friend nor the best brother to you, Tony, and to the rest of the team, and I’m sorry. You were right about a lot of things, and I didn’t listen. We split the team apart, and I wasn’t there for you when I said I would be. And I’m sorry, Tony.”
Tony studied him quietly for a moment, then turned to Natasha to see if he could gauge a reaction from her. Her features softened, and a small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of her lips. This was no lie. This was a real apology.
And then Tony found himself needing to say one of his own. “I’m…I’m sorry too. This whole thing is a two-way street, right? I played some part in all of that too, and I’m sorry I didn’t do better when I could. I’m not going to apologize for losing my cool and blowing up on you and Barnes in Siberia. Yet. Who knows? Maybe someday, I’ll get to that point, but I am sorry that it all went down like it did. I just –”
“No, Tony, don’t. You don’t have to explain,” Steve told him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.”
“I would like to think that I would have understood, that I would come to terms with it all better, and that I would have been able to see Barnes was a victim. I would like to think I would have helped somehow.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you the chance.”
“Yeah well,” Tony sighed and shrugged. “Water under the bridge, I guess. I’m still not happy about that part, but I am willing to work past that to get on better terms, for our friendship and the Avengers.”
Steve nodded. “As am I, Tony. We’ll do this right from now on. Communicate better.”
“Build trust again.”
Natasha piped up, completely serious, “I recommend couples therapy.” The pair looked at her, and she simply said, “Neither of you are above therapy.”
“I actually think we all need a group therapy session,” Tony told her. “Who else could use it more than the Avengers? Especially after the hell we’ve all been through? Let’s put that as top priority. Group therapy session for the Avengers and then maybe break out into smaller group sessions or one-on-one or–”
“Couples,” Natasha said again.
“That particular therapist will need to be compensated pretty well for helping Captain America and Iron Man deal with some long-seated issues,” Tony commented.
Steve shrugged and asked, “Think we could find one who can do that?”
“I…maybe? I guess it’s worth looking into. Then maybe, who knows, we could actually be real friends?”
Steve smiled and nodded. “I like the sound of that.”
Natasha let out a soft sigh of relief. “It’s about damn time.”