New Avengers Tower

[worthallthis]

The press meeting takes way too long. Then they're all taken to a hospital, because most of them are injured in some way. Then Mel takes them back to that stupid tower. Avengers Tower. Watchtower. New Avengers Tower. Nobody knows what they're calling it.

They get a tour, even though they're exhausted and grouchy, and even though half the tower is clearly in some state of construction and clearly not ready to be shown off. The labs are complete, hastily so, but none of them are going to be going anywhere near those. The rooftop bar is still in shambles, and none of them want to linger there. The kitchen and restaurant-like eating areas spiraled out around it seem intact, and well-stocked, at least.

They each have their own floor. Stark had originally made a whole floor for each of his superhero buddies, which hadn't really been renovated at all even in the multiple years the Avengers had been toast, so now they're the cleanest and least disturbed of the whole tower.

Bucky gets Steve's, Walker gets Thor's, Ava gets Clint's.

Yelena gets the one meant for Natasha. Of course.

And Bob gets Banner's, with its combination of calming decor and Hulk-proof walls.

Then they're left alone to "rest" with the promise that Mel and Valentina will be in touch over the next few days, which sounds more like a threat than anything else.

Comments

[makingitworse]

Was affected. He somehow affected most of Manhattan. By pulling them physically into the void.

Are they all dead? Are they all lost in some weird alternate memory dimension of torment? Is he a mass murderer or just some kind of psychic sorcerer? It doesn't occur to him that he didn't see any void or shadows or anything outside in the city, that no one has him locked up until he lets the rest of the city go, and so it's likely that everything turned out fine. He's too busy spiralling.

He does look up, through some dangling curls, when she tells him to, but it's clear he's panicking, in a quiet fashion.

[musicdied]

She lifts her other hand to lay on his other arm, grip gentle, like she can anchor him in the present - or at least convey that she trusts him not to snap and drag her back into the depression dimension.

Not that distance would help, if she's wrong.

"We stopped it," she says. "Okay? You, me, the rest of the team. We stopped it. It's over, everyone's back. I promise."

[makingitworse]

This time, at least, she's not wrong. He sits and shivers for a long minute, full of conflicting desires, but finally he twists one wrist around in her grasp and turns it back to catch around her forearm, back, careful to keep his hand on nothing but her long sleeve. Probably a good sign? No awful memories drop, anyway, and he's not gripping so tight that it hurts, at least not yet.

"Everyone's okay? I didn't-- leave anyone in there?" He doesn't even know why that idea haunts him so much. He doesn't even remember being-- in there. If he was pulling people into it, was he really in there or was it really just him shoving people into their worst memories, on purpose, to make them share his-- his void?

[musicdied]

She breathes a quiet sigh of relief when he breaks that shuddering stillness. He's not all right, clearly, but at least he's responding. She may need to tread carefully, but she can work with that.

"Everyone's okay," she confirms. "No one was left behind. It was all over pretty quickly, in real world time."

[makingitworse]

He can't even explain the deep certainty that someone must have been left behind, beyond the knowledge that he always messes things up, and that can't be the sole exception to the rule. But because he doesn't remember it, he can't give any reasoning to her, or really do anything but hope that she's right.

He sniffs, then ducks his head a little so that his face is mostly hidden between hair and pillow, but he doesn't let go of her arm, either, or shake off the grip she still has one his other one. The shivering isn't entirely subsided, but it's not constant, either, little waves going through him.

"Okay," is what comes out. He might need a minute before he can bring himself to ask anything else.

[musicdied]

Yelena's hand shifts up toward his shoulder, as she starts to pull him into a hug before catching herself. She doesn't know enough about how his powers work - if it's only touching his hand that has an effect, if he has to be an active participant, or if even incidental skin contact will trigger something - and while she'd be willing to take the risk on her own account, she suspects that it would only make him more miserable if something were to happen.

So she turns the motion into a gentle squeeze of his upper arm, which feels entirely inadequate as far as reassuring gestures goes, but at least isn't going to dump any more of her trauma into his head.

[makingitworse]

He might maybe lean a little bit her direction when her hand moves, some part of him anticipating being pulled in. When it doesn't happen, he realizes immediately why not: she can't risk it. He can pull people into terrible memories. Into a terrible memory dimension. And neither of them really know how. It's not safe. It might not be safe to do what she's doing now.

But she's still doing it.

He finally pulls himself together enough to let go of his death grip on the couch pillow and wipe his eyes a little with that hand. There hadn't been any sobs or even hitched breath, but he definitely leaked a little. The jittery energy is gone, at least. All he feels is a familiar, heavy despair.

It's bearable, though. He's had worse. "You said... we stopped it."