Way Too Damn Early, The Morning After, Avengers Mansion, New York City
"Well, good morning! You look like Hell!"
I'm greeted by a far too cheerfull Stark as I shuffle into the kitchen, feeling like shit's caveman ancestor. Judging by his disleveled clothes and the various stains on them, Stark is less "up early" himself and more "up still" from whatever he got up to after he disappeared last night. Steve, looking bright eyed and wholesome as usual, dressed in his workout clothes, is sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal.
"Mr. Stark, that's not polite..." he gives me a concerned look "But you do look rather hard up, Johan. Is everything alright? Are you feeling okay?"
"Yeah, just..." I rub my eyes, trying to clear my head "Had a bit of a rough night. Think I had some bad dreams or something..."
"Must've been some nightmare" Stark says, sipping his coffee, before pulling a flask out of his slacks and adding some amber liquid to it. He takes another sip and nods approvingly. "Just do what I do, just keep drinking, eventually you'll black out and the bad thoughts go away!"
"Yeah, that sterling argument for alcoholism as a treatment for PTSD aside, I'll have to pass..." I lean against the counter, grabbing an orange from the bowl and begin to idly pick at the peel "It's weird though... I don't actually remember that much. And for some reason, I was all sore when I woke up, like I'd been in a fistfight or something."
Steve frowns in concern "Are you sure you're alright? Do you need Dr. Blake to take a look at you?"
I shake my head as I pop the first orange slice in my mouth "Nah, I'm feeling better now, must've just slept weird. It's funny though... I do remember one thing about the dream, I think Doctor Strange was in it..." Normally, I'd be concerned about Strange appearing in my dreams, but for some reason, I have this feeling that I don't need to be.
I wonder what happened last night...
...
"I think we should leave, Strange. This seems profoundly private..."
Strange nods slightly, averting his gaze from the scene in front of us. "You speak true, Sunshine. And our part in all of this is done." He lifts his cape, and the plane around us begins to fade, the two figures kneeling next to eachother drawing away in the distance before they vanish completely. Finally, there's just the two of us, standing in a void. "You have my thanks, Mr. Magnusson, you have helped to prevent a great evil here today, though I fear you will not remember this encounter."
"Wait, what? Hey, if you think you're going to erase my memory or some bullshit-"
"Nothing so crude, Sunshine, and not my doing at any rate. The human mind and it's connection with the Dreaming is... malleable, things are rarely retained in their original form. My mystical training allows me to traverse this realm the same as the World of Real Things, but for you, as with most of humanity, this will fade upon awakening. You may recall an emotion, a scent, a fleeting image, but as for what actually transpired here, little will remain."
"But then... I mean, what was the point of all this? If we're just going to forget it happened, won't Johnson be just as vulnerable in the morning as he was before?! We haven't fixed anything!"
Strange smiles, even as his form begins to blend with the darkness, his eyes lingering for a moment before they disappear as well "Mr. Sunshine, a wound that has been healed will remain healed, long after you've forgotten you ever had it at all. Lyndon Johnson may forget the details of what happened here, but he will remember what mattered. He will remember that he got the thing he needed most of all. And as for you, your work is done..."
.....
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." Lyndon whispered hoarsly, clutching the hand on his face like a drowning man to a lifeline. Kneeling beside him, his darling Bird smiled sadly, beautiful and ageless, like he remembered her, like he'd always remember her now. Fingers ran through his hair, and he looked up, blinking away the tears "I'm an old fool, I should have known that... that awful thing wasn't you, but I..." he grimaced, hating the weakness in his voice "I needed it to be you. God forgive me, I needed it to be you."
"Lyndon... I don't blame you. Not for any of this." Her voice, it really was her voice, not that horrible mimic he'd clung to.
He shook his head, the guilt tearing at him like a wild animal "Why? How can you not blame me for this? You saw the things I almost did, everything that... abomination held in front of me, because I wasn't strong enough to see that it wasn't you at all. You would never have said those awful things, never wanted to hurt a soul, but I..." he paused "...I should have protected you. You died, and I couldn't do anything to save you. And now you're gone. I thought, if I could have you back... I'd do anything, anything at all. If the world had to burn, if that's what it took..."
"Lyndon... You knew me better than anyone" her voice was sad, her hand lifting his face up to look her in the eyes "I would never have wanted that, I never wanted you to become someone you aren't, not for me, or for anything else. But no, I don't blame you, not for this, or for my own death. If I could have stayed with you, I would have, but it happened, a death among many, a tragedy enacted by evil, petty men who couldn't think to change the world through anything other than destruction. There was nothing you could have done to save me. It was simply my time."
He closed his eyes, the grief and loss as raw as ever "...I can't do this. I can't go on. Not alone. Not without you. Please..."
"You're not alone, Lyndon. You never were. Our children. Our country. Our world. They still need you, and there is much work still to be done. Go out into the world and make it a better place, like I always knew you could. Even if I can't be there in person, I'll always be there with you in spirit, and one day, when the time is right, you will see me again. Remember always, my beloved Lyndon..."
"Where flowers bloom, so does hope..."
The feeling of soft lips pressed against his forehead was the last thing he knew before the light drew him away.
....
At The Same Time, Parkland Memorial Hospital, Dallas, Texas
"Lynda...?"
Lynda Johnson first thought she imagined the voice coming from the bedside next to her. It took her a few moments to realize her father had actually spoken to her, and the newspaper she had been staring at fell from her hands as she bolted from her chair, rushing to the bed. "Dad?! Are you okay?!"
Lyndon Johnson blinked, trying to focus on the figure standing by the side of his hospital bed. He tried to speak, his throat feeling dry and unused "Lynda, when... when did you get here?"
"I got here last night, you've been drifting in and out of sleep for almost a week now! Dad... what's going on? Are you in pain? Do you need a nurse?"
And then the strangest thing happened.
Lyndon Johnson smiled. And the awful palor of misery that had clung to him since her mother had died seemed to melt away.
"I'm... I'm not entirerly sure, but... I remember having this wonderful dream..."