Warnings: Again, heavy angst, kind of suicidal thoughts, and descriptions of corpses.

_ _ _ _

Oh my friends, my friends, forgive me
That I live and you are gone

You trudged across the now ruined lawn toward Clint's truck. His arm rested about your shoulders. You felt delirious, like you were in a dream. Time seemed to have slowed or stopped completely. You probably would have fallen over, if it weren't for your friend beside you, holding you steady. You didn't bother to refocus your eyes. The world was in a haze.

Your thoughts rang over and over with the same, cold thought: If it hadn't been for your being worthy, you would be just as dead as your comrades.

Your head snapped up suddenly. 'Mjolnir,' you thought. You couldn't possibly leave it behind.

"(Y/N)?" Clint seemed surprised when you suddenly turned on your heel, pulling out of his grip and sprinting back to where you had left the bodies. "(Y/N)! Wait!" He was soon running after you. Though, he never had been as fast as you.

As you ran, you were bombarded with more memories of the previous night.

After your initial reaction to holding the ancient weapon, you swung it twice by your hip. The weight was perfect, almost like it was extension of your arm. You smirked; you could get used to this. You turned and began to walk back down the long corridor to the stairs, swinging the hammer slowly as you went. Gods, this felt good.

You had just reached the foot of the stairwell when you were knocked from your feet. It felt like a mini-earthquake had just hit; and it was gone almost faster than it came, followed immediately by an excruciatingly loud BANG. Heat emanated from above you. You struggled to your feet, only to be knocked down again by another tremor, and another, and another. With each one, the lights flickered. It was then that the realization dawned on you.

You were under attack.

There's a grief that can't be spoken
There's a pain goes on and on

You pulled to a stop. Mjolnir sat at your feet. A layer of dust defiled the surface of the foreign metal.

Looking down upon it, you realized that this was the only reason you were alive. You almost smiled, thinking about how drunk Thor had been when he'd called you over. He had saved your life, and he would never know.

"Yeah, it sucks that we're gonna have to leave it here." Clint stopped beside you, slightly out of breath.

In any other situation, you would have smirked. You couldn't even force yourself to do that. Now, you merely looked at him for a moment. You reached down and wrapped your hand around the leather-bound handle. Clint's eyes widened as you stood, the hammer falling by your thigh.

He nodded in silent awe.

Wordlessly, you two headed back in the direction of the truck.

"Excuse me, ma'am. We can't let you take that off site." One of the agents was speed-walking toward you.

You glared at him, your grip tightening around the hilt. Power surged down your arm. Electricity crackled through the air, making your hair stand up. If looks could kill, this man would have ceased to exist.

The agent stopped in his tracks, seeing the arcs of lightning that were jumping all around the hammer and the murderous look in your eyes. He nodded and quickly left.

Phantom faces at the window
Phantom shadows on the floor

You climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and set Mjolnir by your feet. Clint sat behind the steering wheel with a heavy sigh. The hazy numbness began to fall over you again, and you did nothing to resist. You were tired. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. You didn't want to feel.

You knew, deep down, that you should be processing what happened. You were still in shock. But you didn't want to process anything. Thinking about it just made the pain worse.

You felt a wave of nausea hit just as Barton began to shift the truck into drive. You stopped him and quickly flung your door open. Leaning out, you emptied your stomach onto the dirt below. Some might have gotten on the door. You were too dizzy to tell. After wiping your mouth on your grimy sleeve, you sat back up and laid you head back on the headrest. Your eyes clenched shut. It felt like your body was trying to kill itself, or expel your soul, or something of that nature.

"Are you sure you don't want one of those paramedics to take a look at you?" Clint asked softly.

You shook your head, keeping your eyes closed.

The concern in his voice grew more apparent. "You're in shock, (Y/N)."

"I can't go back there, Clint. Please take me home." You opened your eyes and gave him a pleading look.

He nodded grimly and put the truck into gear once more. As you pulled out of the compound, you shut your eyes again. Immediately, the images returned. You didn't want them, but they came nonetheless.

Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will meet no more

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked up at the giant slabs of building that were blocking the stairs. You tried to slow your breathing. If you didn't, you would probably pass out, you were breathing so fast. Your mind was racing.

What to do... what to do...

You paced back and forth by the foot of the stairs, nearly ripping your hair out with your free hand. In your other, Mjolnir hung idly.

When the attacks had started, you felt a new surge of power emanating from the hammer. It almost seemed connected to you now. You didn't want to think about what that might mean. You looked down at the weapon - the tool - in your hand. It pulsated with energy.

Again, you looked at the debris. Determination filled your mind. You took a few steps back, and then charged straight at the stones, swinging Mjolnir with every ounce of strength you could muster.

It took less time than you thought it would to break through. The debris exploded outward in a burst of lightning. You raced up the stairs; at least, what was left of them.

You were relieved when you caught sight of the patch of reddish-brown sky through the rubble. You expected to see Tony zoom past in his suit, firing repulsor blasts at the unknown attackers. Or Steve, standing heroically, using anything within reach as a shield. At the very least, you were ready for Mjolnir to rip out of your hand and fly to wherever Thor was beckoning it.

But the sky was empty. And all was quiet.

Oh my friends, my friends
Don't ask me
What your sacrifice was for

You finally clawed your way out of the hole to find that the compound was no more. A broken wall stood here or there, but that was all that remained of the once enormous building. You looked around, waiting for any sign of a battle, listening for the sounds of a dogfight above you. There was nothing. Not a sound but the crackling of fire reached your ears.

As you turned slowly, something caught your eye. If you weren't mistaken, it was in the direction of where the bar once was. You walked toward it. You had to climb over and around piles of debris of various sizes, but eventually, you reached what you had spotted.

You immediately wished that you hadn't.

A lump formed in your throat. Your friends lay scattered about the area, illuminated by the dying fires that littered the place. All dead. They were broken and twisted in grotesque positions, some half covered by fallen pieces of the building. Tears stung your eyes.

"No," you whispered, unbelieving. "No, no, no!"

You ran to Thor, who was closest to you, and knelt beside his unmoving form. "Thor!" You cried, lightly shaking him. You tried to place Mjolnir in his hand. Hope that it would miraculously revive him stirred within you. It didn't work.

"Thor, please wake up."

You got up and moved on to the next. Peter was lying, face down, beside a charred sofa. You turned his body over and placed your ear to his chest. His heart was still.

"No." You felt another sob wrack your body. How could this have happened? He was so young.

An overturned table - that had somehow survived the blasts - stood between you and the rest of your friends. You took the hammer and swung, sending wood splintering everywhere. Hot tears were now streaming down your face and dripping to the blackened ground.

Tony, Steve, Natasha, Sam, Rhodes. They were all dead. You checked all of them, searching for any tiny spark of life on this ruined ground.
Tony, the man who had taken you in when your parents were too scared to raise a child with powers, the man who you had learned to look up to as a father, was lifeless at your feet. Small circles of blood ran up his arms where his suit had failed to find him before it was too late. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you looked into his eyes, which were still open and unblinking. His brown eyes, that usually held warmth and that lit up whenever he was about to make a dirty joke were now cold. You couldn't bear it. You reached down and closed them, recoiling at how cold and stiff his skin felt.

Steve and Nat were so close to each other, as if Steve had known what was coming and had tried to shield his friend from the oncoming strike. It hadn't helped, apparently. Your heart ached as you remembered how the three of you had argued like siblings all the time. Steve would sometimes even drag Sam into the quarrels. Nat would win nonetheless.

"Why?" Your voice cracked when you spoke. The word broke the thick silence that blanketed the area.

You desperately craved revenge against whoever did this. You glared at the sky and swore on the blood of your teammates - your brothers - that you would bring their killers to ruin.

They would be avenged.

Empty chairs at empty tables

You sat in the company of the dead, with Mjolnir by your feet. You longed to know how the bombing could have destroyed the entire building, killed your comrades, and trapped you in the basement, and yet the sofa and the table that had stood near Peter's crumpled form still remained. You wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. Why were you still here? You suddenly wished that the ceiling could have fallen on you when you were down there. It would have spared you the pain of your discovery.

You tried to remember the warm happiness that had filled the room only minutes before. You tried to recall the content smiles that had been on everyone's faces the last you had seen them. You tried to hear the sound of laughter that had echoed off the walls and followed you as you had descended the stairs.

It was useless. Nothing was going to bring them back. You were truly alone, and it killed you.

Where my friends will sing
No more

You woke up at the feeling of the truck coming to a halt. The Barton family house loomed beside you in the morning light. Clint had already gotten out and walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door and took your hand, helping you out of the tall vehicle. He kept his arm around your shoulders and you held onto his waist. Your other hand clung to Mjolnir as if it was the only thing keeping you alive at the moment.

You walked wearily into the house, safe in Clint's arms. In that moment, you knew that you would survive. You didn't know how, and you didn't know what life was going to look like from then on; but you knew that you were home. You were safe, and you were not alone.

And that's all that mattered.