.ೃ࿔*:･𝐱𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢. who could ever leave me, darling, but who could stay?

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘, almost unbearable, as Pepper steps outside, her movements slow and deliberate. Her fingers grip the wreath, the weight of it far more symbolic than physical, and nestled among the flowers is a piece of Tony's legacy— his first Arc reactor.

Pepper’s face is composed but tired, her eyes shadowed with unshed grief as she walks past those gathered— each person bound together in shared sorrow. They’ve all come to pay their respects, but the loss feels intensely personal to each of them. When Pepper reaches the end of the dock, Morgan, small and quiet, clutches her mother’s hand. Together, they kneel, the water rippling softly beneath them. Pepper gently releases the wreath, and it lands with a soft splash, the Arc reactor gleaming for a moment before it begins to drift away, slowly, carried by the current.

Her eyes remain fixed on it, the words engraved into the metal playing over and over in her mind like an echo:

Proof that Tony Stark has a heart.

Behind her, Rhodey and Happy stand in solemn silence. They exchange a glance, but there’s no need for words— they know each other’s grief too well. Happy pulls Rhodey into a side-hug, both of them grounding one another in the quiet pain they share.

Just off the dock, a crowd stands, their faces bathed in the fading sunlight. Steve’s eyes are heavy with the weight of the loss, Peter stands close to May, his eyes red with unshed tears. Thor watches silently, his figure slouched with the burden of having lost yet another friend. Ingrid stands quietly near Bruce, her jaw clenched as she battles her own overwhelming grief. Stephen stands with Wong, both stoic but visibly affected, while Scott holds Hope’s hand. Janet and Hank stand with them. Quill, Nebula, and Rocket are there too, and Groot stands tall next to them. Drax and Mantis hover close by, equally somber.

T'Challa, Okoye, and Shuri stand together, regal even in their mourning, while Clint has his arms around his family. Wanda stands alone, her eyes hollow. Bucky and Sam are nearby, their stances rigid. Harley, quiet and unassuming, stands near Secretary Ross, Maria, Carol, and Nick, all of them struggling to process the gravity of what’s happened.

The group watches in silence as the wreath floats away, the flowers bobbing gently on the water’s surface, the Arc reactor gleaming faintly as it drifts further and further from the dock.

And so they remain, staring after the wreath until it is nothing more than a distant speck.

.ೃ࿔*:･

The house had grown too crowded, the weight of everyone's grief thickening the air until it became suffocating. Ingrid could feel it pressing down on her chest, threatening to choke her, so she slipped away quietly, needing space to breathe. The moment she stepped outside, the cool air hit her face, but it wasn’t enough to clear the fog that clouded her mind.

Ingrid sat down heavily on the steps of the front porch, her shoulders sagging as she let out a long, weary sigh. The exhaustion of the past days had seeped deep into her bones, a mix of physical and emotional pain that wouldn’t go away. Her left hand, still sore but uninjured, moved instinctively to the collar of her black silk button-up. She fumbled with the top buttons, loosening them in hopes that it would ease the pressure around her throat, but even with her skin exposed to the night air, she still felt as if Thanos’ hand was wrapped around her neck, the grip tightening.

Her throat burned as she swallowed, the sensation too familiar, too fresh. Shaking her head, she tried to focus on something else, something lighter. Her eyes drifted down to the cast on her right arm, the one that wrapped around her wrist and forearm. But it wasn’t the stark white material that held her attention; it was the colorful doodles that had been lovingly scrawled all over it. Morgan had insisted on decorating it, her tiny hands gripping markers as she drew stars, flowers, and hearts, each one more vibrant than the last.

Ingrid's chest tightened in a different way now, a deep ache settling in. Morgan had been so happy when she drew on that cast, blissfully unaware of how her life had just irrevocably changed. The thought of the little girl, now forced to grow up without her father, made Ingrid’s stomach twist. Tony was gone, and all Morgan had left were memories— fading echoes of his voice, his laugh, the warmth of his arms around her.

Ingrid heard the soft creak of wood behind her, footsteps approaching, but she didn’t turn around. The steady rhythm was familiar, comforting even, but her mind was still tangled in its heavy thoughts.

“You don’t mind a little company?” Clint’s voice broke through the silence, gentle and understanding.

Ingrid slowly turned her head, her expression softening the moment she saw him. She wanted to speak, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t allow it. Words felt too fragile, too dangerous, as if saying them aloud would make everything too real. Instead, she just shook her head and scooted over slightly, offering him a small space next to her.

Clint took the silent invitation and sat down with a sigh, one that echoed the weight of Ingrid’s own. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet stretched between them, not uncomfortable but heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts and memories. The presence of Natasha hovered like a shadow, hanging in the air between them, but neither had the strength to pull it into the light.

Ingrid kept her gaze on the ground, her fingers lightly brushing the edges of Morgan’s doodles on her cast. Clint leaned back, eyes fixed on the horizon, as if the answers to their grief might be hidden somewhere out there, just beyond their reach.

“She would've been proud of you, you know,” Clint finally said, his voice rough around the edges, but certain. He didn’t look at her, didn’t need to.

Ingrid’s breath caught, her eyes stinging with the tears she’d been trying so hard to hold back. Her fingers stilled, resting limply against her cast as she stared down at her hands. It was too much— the grief, the loss, the finality of it all. She swallowed hard, trying to steady herself, but when she spoke, her voice came out small, cracked.

“It still doesn’t feel real,” she managed to choke out. The admission felt like a betrayal of the strength she had tried to hold onto, but it was the truth. It didn’t feel real, not yet. Not the loss of Natasha, not the gaping hole she’d left behind. How could it be real when everything still felt so wrong?

Clint didn’t respond right away. He just sat there, his presence solid and grounding, a silent assurance that she wasn’t alone in this.

Clint nodded slowly, his gaze distant. "Yeah... it doesn’t. I don’t think it ever will." His voice was thick with emotion, but what broke Ingrid's heart was the look in his eyes— the deep, unspoken sadness that mirrored her own. He took a deep breath, as if steadying himself for what he was about to say next, the weight of his own grief hanging heavy in the air between them.

"But she always talked about you," Clint continued, his voice softening. "Like you were her own." He paused, the corners of his lips lifting ever so slightly into a sad smile. "You reminded her of herself, I think. Tough, stubborn." His eyes grew distant, like he was recalling a memory buried deep within him, a small piece of Natasha that only he could carry. Ingrid felt her heart swell at the thought, a bittersweet warmth spreading through her chest. A faint smile touched her lips as well, though it trembled slightly. "A fighter," Clint finished.

Ingrid’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the emotions she had been holding back for so long now dangerously close to spilling over. She swallowed, her voice thick with regret when she finally spoke. "I never told her enough... how much she meant to me." Her voice wavered, and she had to take a moment to breathe before continuing. "I don’t know if she knew."

"She knew," Clint said, his voice strong but kind, the warmth in his words unmistakable. "She loved you, kid. And nothing can ever change that." His hand found her shoulder, the gesture firm but comforting, grounding her in a way that words couldn’t. He knew the ache she felt— the lingering question of whether you’d said enough, done enough. He had felt it too.

Ingrid blinked rapidly, but the tears that had been welling up finally broke free, slipping down her cheeks. She wiped them away quickly, embarrassed, but Clint didn’t seem to mind. She smiled through the tears, her voice quiet as she spoke. "I just hope I can live up to her... to what she saw in me."

Clint’s hand gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, his voice steady and full of quiet conviction. "You already do. Every day."

Ingrid closed her eyes for a moment, letting those words settle in her heart. The tears still flowed, but they were softer now, not as heavy. She didn’t know if she truly believed she could ever live up to Natasha’s legacy, but hearing Clint say it gave her something to hold onto. Something to strive for. She wasn’t just fighting for herself anymore— she was carrying Natasha’s strength, her courage, her love.

In the quiet of the evening, with Clint sitting beside her, the weight of her grief felt just a little lighter. Natasha was gone, but her presence lingered, woven into the fabric of their lives. And as Ingrid sat there, she realized that maybe that was enough.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄!!!

aaaand this is the last chapter of anti-hero. we've only got an epilogue on the way, and it'll hopefully be way less sad.

i wanted to thank everybody who read, voted and commented. it means so so so much to me!!!!

now... i don't know how to let go of my ocs and their stories (what a shocker) so i'm already thinking of ways i could incorporate ingrid into far from home, no way home (plus any future marvel projects) and i also have so many ideas for her own plotlines (relating to her mom and her just trying to balance being a teenager and also an ex-avenger).

my question is: would anybody read that? i was thinking about making a sequel to this book, but now i'm honestly not so sure anymore. either way i'll probably write it because i can't let go, but i just need to know if i should post it.

that's it!!!! again- thank you for reading!!!! i love you, and see you in the epilogue.