Albedos Redemption

Albedo had just dropped his keys onto the small table near the front door when his phone buzzed with an emergency news alert. For a moment, he didn't think much of it—there was always some crisis or dramatic headline in a post-Civil War world. But the name in the banner froze him: CAPTAIN AMERICA. The screen flickered with the words "BREAKING NEWS" in red letters. Albedo's heart stuttered.

He stepped into the living room, calling, "Peter? Mary Jane?" He heard a faint clatter from the kitchen. Aunt May and Mary Jane were back there, tidying up after a quiet evening meal. Peter was in the adjacent workshop area, fiddling with a new gadget for their fledgling tech company.

Albedo raised his voice, trying to keep it from trembling. "There's something happening on the news. Might be important."

Mary Jane came out first, wiping her hands on a dishrag. She caught sight of Albedo's stunned expression and frowned. "What is it? Something about Kingpin again?"

Aunt May trailed behind her, leaning slightly on her cane. "Is everything all right, dear?" Her gaze flicked to the phone in his hand.

Before Albedo could respond, Peter emerged from the workshop corner, a spool of wire in one hand. "You sound worried, Albedo." Then he saw Albedo's face and the phone. His own expression sobered. "What's going on?"

Albedo swallowed, pressing a button to cast the live news feed onto the large monitor in the living room. A grim-faced anchor stared out at them, voice tight with shock. "We have confirmation from multiple reliable sources: Captain America—Steve Rogers—has been pronounced dead in a sudden and violent incident earlier today, right outside the Federal Courthouse." The anchor's voice wobbled. "Authorities have not yet released full details, but eyewitnesses claim he was shot. We repeat: Captain America has died."

The anchor's words landed like a physical blow. The house fell silent. May pressed a hand to her mouth, tears brimming, while Mary Jane staggered a step, half-collapsing onto the couch, eyes wide with disbelief. Peter's face went pale, as though someone had punched the air from his lungs. Albedo felt an icy numbness seeping through him. This was the man who had come to their warehouse barely days ago, helping them rearrange crates, encouraging them to look to a better future. Steve had been their rock in a sea of moral confusion. And now he was… gone?

Peter dropped the spool of wire. It rolled across the floor, clinking against the base of a chair. "No… that— That can't be real," he whispered. He rushed forward, eyes glued to the monitor. The broadcaster repeated the core details: an attack on the steps of a courthouse, multiple shots fired, Captain America collapsing. Medics arrived too late. The feed cut to shaky phone footage of Steve lying on the pavement, a small crowd gathering, some reaching out in horror. The anchor's voice quivered, explaining how Captain America had turned himself in or was about to make a public statement on bridging the hero community. Now he lay still, unresponsive.

Mary Jane put her hands over her mouth. Aunt May sank onto a chair, tears sliding down her cheeks, wordless heartbreak etched in every line of her face. Albedo stared at the footage, replaying the memory of Steve's last visit—his warm handshake, that gentle caution not to become so fixated on the future that they neglected the present. Captain America had always been a moral compass, a symbol of unwavering integrity. The idea that he could be gunned down felt… impossible.

Finally, Peter inhaled a ragged breath. "He just— We just spoke to him… about forging a new path," he managed, voice cracking. "He told us… we could do better than Tony or Reed. That we shouldn't let the war break us. And now he's—" He couldn't finish the sentence.

Albedo approached, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder. "I know. I can't believe it either."

Onscreen, the anchor choked out more details: Captain America was taken to a hospital but declared dead within minutes. The broadcast displayed photographs, tributes from stunned bystanders, political figures rushing to express shock. They cut to images of the courthouse steps, cordoned off by police tape. The entire city reeled, the anchor said, as if the soul of the hero community had been torn out in an instant.

Mary Jane squeezed Peter's hand, tears running freely. "He was a good man. One of the best," she whispered, trembling. "He saved Aunt May. He… saved everyone at some point."

Aunt May nodded, swallowing her own sob. "He believed in you, Peter, believed in all of us. My goodness… if even Captain America can die so suddenly, what hope—?" She broke off, biting her lip as more tears fell.

Albedo knelt by Aunt May, taking her hand gently. "We still have hope," he said softly, though it sounded hollow in his ears. He turned to see Peter's eyes blazing with sorrow and anger. "Let's not lose ourselves to despair. This is exactly what Steve fought against."

Peter stared at the flickering images on the monitor. The anchor moved on to show other hero reactions, statements from the X-Men, from some of the Avengers. Tony Stark's face appeared briefly in a recorded snippet, looking pale and shock-stricken, saying he'd do everything to find out who orchestrated this. The bitterness that had lingered between them all was overshadowed by an even darker tragedy.

Time blurred. They sat around the living room in stunned silence, the news playing in the background. Theresa Parker arrived shortly after, face pinched with grief. She'd gotten word from S.H.I.E.L.D. channels that Captain America's body was being taken to a secure location. The entire city would soon be inundated with tributes, demonstrations, and raw heartbreak.

Theresa's gaze fell on Peter. "I came as soon as I heard. Are you all right? I know how close you'd gotten."

Peter shook his head, tears threatening. "He was more than a friend… he was an ideal. Everything we hoped the hero community could be." He struggled to keep from breaking down fully. Mary Jane wrapped an arm around his waist, guiding him gently to sit.

Theresa's own eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "They're planning a state funeral, from what I understand. Tony's spearheading it with S.H.I.E.L.D. We… want the entire hero community there."

Aunt May nodded. "Of course we'll go. But— oh, I can't believe it. Steve was so full of life last time he was here." Her voice cracked on the final words.

Albedo set the phone aside, letting the repeated news coverage fade into the background. "We'll attend. We owe it to him. And we'll stand together—everyone who's left." He recalled the day they'd spent in the warehouse, Captain America's bright eyes scanning their blueprint. That memory would haunt him forever.

Night fell, and no one slept well. Peter dozed fitfully on the couch, Mary Jane curled beside him, both occasionally stirring with nightmares. Aunt May retreated to her bedroom but left the door ajar. Albedo sat at his desk, phone in hand, occasionally checking messages—condolences from friends, inquiries about funeral arrangements. The entire city wept for a fallen legend.

––––––––––––

Two days later, the entire city shut down for Captain America's funeral. Enormous crowds lined the streets leading to a grand memorial site, with black banners bearing the iconic star-and-stripes shield. Television crews from around the world swarmed, broadcasting every moment. Heroes, civilians, political leaders, and foreign dignitaries arrived in droves. Even among the general population, a hush prevailed, a collective mourning as though a father figure had been lost.

Albedo, Peter, Mary Jane, and Aunt May traveled together in a small car, accompanied by Theresa Parker. They wore solemn black attire—Peter had pressed an old suit, and Mary Jane found a simple black dress that struggled to accommodate her early pregnancy but fit enough for the day. Aunt May's cane tapped softly against the sidewalk as they arrived, stepping onto the quiet street near the memorial site. Albedo, in a subdued black shirt and slacks, hovered protectively, scanning for potential trouble. They'd heard rumors that tension might boil over, given how divided the hero community remained after Civil War.

Rows of uniformed S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel flanked the entrance, saluting guests. Behind them, a massive stage had been erected, draped in black cloth, sporting a towering image of Captain America in a heroic pose. The hush among the gathered thousands was palpable: this was a day of sorrow, but also reflection. Overhead, flags flew at half-mast.

They were ushered to a designated area reserved for "Close Associates." Peter recognized many faces there: Tony Stark, stiff in a dark suit, flanked by War Machine. Reed Richards and Susan Storm, subdued, the rest of the Fantastic Four behind them. The X-Men, wearing formal variations of their uniforms, stood together, their expressions grim. Sam Wilson—Falcon—lingered near them, tears brimming. Bucky Barnes, face drawn, stood at the perimeter, gaze distant. Dozens of Avengers, or what remained of them, filled rows, all in black suits or dresses, heads bowed. It was a veritable who's who of the hero world, a testament to how deeply Steve Rogers had touched so many lives.

Albedo guided Aunt May and Mary Jane to seats, while Peter paused, scanning the crowd with a mixture of bitterness and sadness. He spotted Tony Stark at the front, next to a large, draped coffin, the flag neatly folded atop it. Tony turned slightly, meeting Peter's gaze for an awkward second. They nodded in somber acknowledgment, the friction of the past overshadowed by a greater grief.

A hush fell as the ceremony began. Government officials offered stilted remarks first, praising Captain America's unwavering patriotism. S.H.I.E.L.D. representatives recited how he'd saved the world countless times. But there was a tension in the air—everyone knew how the Civil War had pitted Steve against these same authorities. At times, applause seemed subdued, as if the crowd wrestled with conflicted feelings about who had the right to eulogize him.

Eventually, near the ceremony's midpoint, the tension almost escalated. One official made an offhand remark hinting that Steve Rogers' ideals had sometimes "led him astray" in recent conflicts, suggesting that maybe if he'd cooperated more, he might still be alive. Gasps and mutters rippled through the crowd, some heroes bristling. Albedo felt Peter's hand tense on the back of the chair. Wolverine, further down the row, growled under his breath. Even Tony's posture stiffened, eyes flashing with anger at the official's insinuation.

Others who had fought in the Civil War—like Luke Cage, Hawkeye, or those from the anti-registration side—exchanged livid glances. It looked like a confrontation might erupt right there, overshadowing the funeral. Guards tensed, scanning the crowd.

But Peter Parker stood, face tight, and spoke in a calm, firm voice that carried through the hush: "This isn't the time for blame." The official onstage paused, startled. All eyes turned to Peter. He raised his voice, ensuring everyone heard. "Captain America died trying to protect the ideals he believed in. Let's not reduce his memory to petty arguments about which side was right. He was bigger than that conflict. Please, let's honor him without stirring old wounds."

His words hung in the silent air. Some looked ready to retort, but the raw emotion on Peter's face disarmed them. The official onstage, face pale, apologized quietly, stepping back. The tension dissipated, a sigh of relief passing through the crowd. Albedo felt pride well up in his chest. Peter had stepped up, bridging that divide with simple sincerity. Aunt May squeezed Peter's hand, tears in her eyes at how he'd prevented a scene.

The ceremony resumed. A few dignitaries offered more measured speeches. Then it was announced that certain individuals from Captain America's personal circle would give eulogies. Tony Stark, voice thick with regret, spoke briefly about the complicated relationship he shared with Steve, acknowledging how far astray they'd drifted but praising Steve's moral compass. He ended by saying, "I wish I'd listened more, fought less. Maybe then we'd still have him today." War Machine patted Tony's shoulder, both men subdued.

After that, the stage coordinator called out: "Peter Parker, longtime ally of Captain America, has asked to say a few words." Murmurs echoed—some in the crowd recognized the name, some only knew him as the unmasked Spider-Man from recent controversies. Peter shot a glance at Mary Jane, who nodded encouragement, and at Albedo, who offered a small nod of support. Aunt May took his hand. "He'd be proud of you," she whispered.

Peter walked to the lectern, shoulders tense, heart pounding so loudly he thought the microphone might pick it up. Before him lay the casket, draped in a star-spangled banner. Beyond it stretched hundreds of heroes and civilians, the media cameras capturing every detail. He swallowed, glanced at the coffin, and began.

"Captain America—Steve Rogers—was more than a hero," Peter said, voice trembling at first. "He was a beacon. Whenever we, as heroes or citizens, got lost in politics or fear, we could look to him and remember what truly mattered: protecting lives, upholding justice, caring for one another. He never asked for admiration or compliance. He just wanted us to do what was right."

A hush fell over the entire assembly, the wind catching edges of the large banner overhead. Peter continued, finding strength in each word. "During the Civil War, we fought on opposite sides at times, but Steve never stopped reminding me—and all of us—why we wear these masks, why we risk everything. It wasn't to serve governments or personal egos. It was to protect people. Especially those who can't protect themselves."

His voice grew steadier, emotion fueling him. "Some say he died because he was too principled, that if he'd compromised or changed, he might have lived. But compromise can be a slippery slope. Steve believed there's a line you don't cross—when you start violating personal freedoms or ignoring the everyday person's struggle, you lose the heart of heroism. And he never lost that heart, even in the darkest moments."

Tony lowered his head, tears in his eyes. Reed and Susan exchanged sorrowful glances, remembering their own moral failings. The crowd listened intently, some openly weeping.

Peter pressed on, tears brimming. "I remember talking with him just days ago. He visited the small warehouse where my friend Albedo and I are starting a new company. We were brimming with hope, and he encouraged us. He said that after all the destruction, it was good to see we were building something. He reminded us that a hero's job is never just about the future or the past, but about being present—protecting the people in front of you, building a world worth living in. That was Steve, every day."

A wave of muffled sobs rippled through the crowd. Some older heroes from the war parted tears away. Ms. Marvel dabbed her eyes. The X-Men bowed their heads, Wolverine swallowing thickly.

Peter took a shaky breath. "To me, Captain America wasn't just a soldier or a symbol. He was a friend. He believed in me when the world called me a fugitive or a liability. When my family was threatened, he showed up, not demanding I pick sides, but encouraging me to stand strong. He saw the best in all of us."

He paused, letting the moment settle. "Now he's gone, and the hero community is fractured, still reeling from the war. But if we let bitterness and grudges keep dividing us, then everything Steve fought for dies with him. If we want to honor him, we have to unite—heal the wounds of Civil War, stand for those who can't stand for themselves, and refuse to let fear guide our actions."

A silent hush enveloped them, the only sound the flutter of the massive banner overhead. Peter's voice dropped to a reverent hush. "Steve Rogers gave his life for these ideals. We owe it to him to carry them forward. No matter how dark times get, how strong the villains or how twisted politics become, we must be the light. That's what Captain America taught me. That's what I'll carry in my heart until my last breath."

He rested a hand lightly on the coffin's edge. "Thank you, Steve, for showing us what a hero truly can be. We won't forget."

Stepping back, he let the tears slip freely. The crowd remained still, absorbing his words. A faint sniffle from Mary Jane broke the silence as she dabbed at her eyes. Aunt May's cheeks glistened, expression torn between pride and sorrow. Albedo watched, heart clenched, recalling how Cap's final conversation had impacted him so deeply.

The officiant cleared his throat, voice choked. "Thank you, Peter Parker, for those heartfelt words." The ceremony continued in subdued fashion, with a final presentation of the folded flag to a small stand. They ended with a bugler playing a sorrowful tune, the notes echoing in the open air. Slowly, the crowd dispersed, some heroes embracing, others walking away in silent reflection.

Albedo, Mary Jane, Aunt May, and Peter stood near the casket a moment longer, paying final respects. Tony hovered a few feet away, uncertain. Reed and Susan approached, tearful. Conflicts threatened to rise again—some from the pro-registration side, some from the anti-registration side. But as a swirl of frustrated murmurs began to brew, Peter quietly turned, offering a gentle hush of acknowledgment. "Not here," he said, voice thick with pain. "Please. Steve wouldn't want us fighting over his coffin."

That simple plea cooled tempers. People parted in quiet, nodding stiffly, burying their differences at least for the day. Tony Stark ventured closer to Peter, voice cracking. "I'm sorry. For everything. Your eulogy—Steve deserved that." They exchanged a nod, neither fully reconciling but finding a fragile respect in grief.

Finally, the crowd thinned out, leaving only the hush of the day's end. Albedo and the Parker family lingered until the casket was transported away for private burial. The wind tugged at their clothes, carrying the faint echo of the bugler's last note. Aunt May gently held Peter's arm. Mary Jane brushed a tear from her cheek, her free hand resting on her abdomen. Albedo wrapped an arm around them, forming a silent circle of comfort.

They had said goodbye to a legend who had united them in ways none realized until he was gone. A new era loomed, uncertain and treacherous. Yet Captain America's spirit lingered in their hearts, a guiding force that no bullet or betrayal could truly extinguish. And in the slow, solemn exodus from that memorial site, one truth shone bright: they would carry on his legacy, forging unity from discord, defending hope where fear reigned. Even in death, Captain America led them, his final gift a reminder of what it meant to stand tall for the ideals of compassion, courage, and unwavering resolve—even when the world fell apart.