Umm, yes. I figured since I had this written, I might as well post it. It’s not Christmas themed, but it’s for the sake of the year’s wane. Sort of?
Warning: feels. Big time.
Listening to this as I wrote.
It was the last day.
The six heroes’ glory days were not yet over, despite the fact that the youngest (oldest?) of them was still showing silver threads shot through his hair. They wouldn’t stop, would not surrender.
And on that day, they stood together, against impossible odds—six against thousands—and prevailed.
Barton and Romanoff, inseparable until the end, stood back-to-back, regardless of wrinkles or aching muscles, scything a path to hellgates for their foes, one with her guns, the other with his bow.
The Hulk, regardless of the fact that Bruce Banner had begun to show signs of arthritis, was still smashing gleefully away.
Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, regardless of their less-than-ideal start, fought side by side, covering each other’s weaknesses and reinforcing each other’s strengths, with the grace and ease of those who had fought side by side for a lifetime.
“This is probably our last fight, you know, Cap,” Iron Man said, striking down two of their assailants with one blow.
“I know,” Captain America replied calmly. He knew more than just that, more than he would let on. Tony wasn’t at all the way that he had been portrayed for much of his life. He didn’t like the sound of his own voice so much as he liked to know that he’d been heard. Despite the rough beginning of their friendship, the history that had threatened to drive them apart, they had succeeded in becoming the best of friends.
They were the Avengers. They were good at beating impossible odds. And today, they’d do it one last time.
“Bit sad to think we won’t be here to do this, to see the results of our good work, any more,” Stark continued. Rogers laughed.
“They have a saying, you know. ‘Any day is a good day to die, if you make it that way.’”
“It’s a good day to die,” Stark murmured.
Neither of them were really worried for the future; they didn’t feel any sadness, merely a sort of regret that they would not be there to see it. There were other heroes, ready to step in and do their part. They had fostered a legend, and that legend would never die.
And one by one, as they fell that day, not in pain or fear, but the peace of a job well done, Thor took them from the field of battle to write their names in the stars. The only one whom time would scarcely touch, he had known this day would come, and he was ready. With his long-since reconciled brother, he made a memorial to them that would last beyond the end of time.
They had claimed one last victory.
This was not the end. It was the beginning for another story.
This was the age of legends, of dragons and monsters and magic and myth. This was an age of miracles. It was the age of heroes.
It was just the start of their glory days.