Things were a bit dreamlike when we got home. I was more wandering from room to room and asking myself questions than anything else...
Why here and now?
Why aren't you here with me?
What am I supposed to do without you?
Didn't you promise me you'd come back?
My chest still burned. My feet ached, my eyes stung, my hands were on fire. There was dirt in places dirt should never be (which, let's be honest, is anywhere but the ground). I'm not the least bit ashamed to admit that the first thing I did upon reaching America again was use up all of Mr. Barton's hot water.
Mrs. Barton was far from pleased, but she said nothing. Not out of fear, but out of sympathy. Or empathy, maybe... It was almost refreshing not to be reprimanded for taking a shower lasting longer than 5 minutes. The next thing that happened was blurry at best. I remember a conversation with the Vision...
"Your brother." he said simply.
"My brother?" I echoed.
I tilted my head.
"We could have saved him."
I left him. It wasn't a topic I wanted to discuss. Only a week passed before I began to miss silence. Another passed before I began to wish I hadn't agreed to join. Imagine that. Maybe things would be different if I did.