The Quinjet flew steadily through the night. Inside, the Avengers were low on morale, while Aaron sat apart from it all, hugging the Holy Dragon and dozing off.
"Though this may be a little presumptuous, I still want to ask—what did you see?" Tony asked.
"That girl showed me Asgard's destruction, but a god's mind is not so easily manipulated." Thrór frowned and said gravely, "I think I know the truth and the answer. I just need time to confirm it."
"What about you, Captain?"
"A celebration." Steve let out a deep sigh. "I was never frozen for seventy years. I lived through the war, and I kept my promise to Peggy."
"That doesn't sound too bad."
"It was good, but then you wake up and realize it was only a dream. What's terrifying isn't gaining something—it's losing it after you've gained it."
"What about you, Natasha?"
Natasha shook her head bitterly and said nothing.
Tony understood how they felt. When Wanda had controlled his mind, he had not fared much better. Otherwise, he would not have thought of creating Ultron.
It looked like things had gotten out of hand, but if he had to do it again, he still would—just more carefully.
"Want to switch shifts?" Tony asked Barton, who had been flying all afternoon.
"I'm fine. If you want to sleep, you'd better do it now. We've still got a few hours to go."
"Where are we headed?"
"The safe house."
At dawn, just as the sun rose, the plane landed on a grassy field in the suburbs.
Barton led the way, bringing everyone toward a house.
"What is this place?" Thrór asked.
"A safe house," Tony said.
"Let's hope it's safe." Barton opened the front door and helped the listless Natasha inside. "Honey, I'm home."
"Honey?"