Night Visions

Chapter 18

Even through the television, he could hear the pounding of the rain. It drummed on the umbrellas of those clustered around the gravesite, a somber deluge that forced the mourners to huddle together and the news crews to erect shelters for their equipment. Vision wondered if anyone in the crowd had truly known the man that they had gathered to honor. Most of those who had had that privilege were here beside him, watching the proceedings on television from the relative safety of Barton's farm. The authorities hadn't come for them, not yet, and the events of the past week had drained much of the fervor from the call for registration, but caution was enough to keep them away. It was regrettable that those who grieved the deepest must do so from hiding but, despite the rain, the crowds stretched well beyond the gravestones. Hundreds had gathered to see Captain America laid to rest.

Of course, Steve was not truly there, would not be interred according to common custom. The contents of his body had been deemed too valuable, too dangerous. Vision was not certain that his own body was capable of death, or a commensurate state of expiration, but he wondered if his remains would be treated similarly. He expected they would.

It was strange to be thinking of oneself while watching the funeral of another. Yet death did seem to have that effect. For those left behind, it was a reminder of their own mortality, an opportunity to appreciate the transient beauty of their own existence. Perhaps some would disagree, preferring to fear or ignore what would one day come. He had little fear for himself, but when he thought of the others – of Wanda – the sensation was... troubling. Time, in this moment, seemed so very short.

She was snuggled beside him on the couch, her legs curled beneath her, her head resting on his shoulder. Slipping an arm around her, Vision held her closer. It had been Rogers who first brought Wanda into the Avengers, who had seen the potential for her and her brother to be more than the weapons that Hydra had tried to make of them. He understood that acceptance, knew what it meant. Rogers had extended the same confidence to him. It wasn't lifting Mjolnir that had made him an Avenger, nor even defeating Ultron. True acceptance had come with a handshake and a crooked smile, a pat on the back as Captain America welcomed him to the team. That was the name that had brought so many out into the rain, but here it was Steve Rogers who they remembered, Steve Rogers whose opinion had held so much weight. There was not a person here who didn't find themselves bettered by his influence and today his memory settled over them in a heavy silence.

It was broken by a change in the broadcast, the camera zooming under the awning where the casket waited, centering on the podium beside it. Wanda shifted beside him. They had all known what was coming, though there had been some doubt as to whether he would actually appear.

As they watched, Stark stepped to the microphone. For a time he simply stared, looking unseeing past the cameras, over the heads of the crowd. Then he glanced down at the casket. He would know that it was empty, but for a moment he looked visibly perplexed, as though he had suddenly realized the futility of the proceedings. A nervous chuckle escaped him.

"God, he's drunk!" Barton pushed to his feet. "You see that? He's drunk."

"He's coping." Natasha was seated cross-legged on the floor, Barton's daughter in her lap.

"Yeah, well maybe now's not the time." Clint folded his arms, but then his wife, Laura, was there, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. It seemed to calm him.

Vision found himself watching them as Stark began his eulogy. It was tradition to recount the life of the fallen, to give some comfort to those who had gathered to listen, but those assembled here seemed to find little solace in his words. Barton still scowled and Wilson fumed quietly. Romanoff distractedly braided the child's hair, watching the screen from the corner of her eye. Occasionally, she would glance behind her, toward the door. Barnes stood beside it, leaning against the wall, his arms folded. The man had been closer to Steve than any of them, but he had barely spoken all day. His only reaction came when Stark called Steve "brother." Without a word, Barnes slipped outside, slamming the door behind him.