Chapter Text
Sam wasn’t happy.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He was happy enough. Natasha and Steve showed up at the apartment Sam had rented on-the-fly unharmed, if paranoid—and rightfully so. Steve had become edgier—and wow, the man’s threshold for being wound up tighter than an old wind-up toy was higher than Sam thought possible—upon seeing him. Once Sam explained T’Challa had vowed on his honor to keep Bucky Barnes safe, and Wanda had volunteered to help find a solution in getting Hydra’s influence and codewords out of Bucky’s head, Steve had relaxed considerably. One rant about leaving behind best friends in other countries later, Steve humbled himself and apologized for not taking Sam along when he left Wakanda. Sam had shrugged, said they were cool, and served Steve up three grilled cheese sandwiches. After he’d eaten, Steve had excused himself to the only bedroom in the apartment for a nap.
Sam hadn’t called bullshit, but only because he hadn’t thought it’d do anyone any good. Instead, Sam busied himself with collecting the paper plates abandoned on the kitchen counter and tossed them in the trash can.
“He’s probably looking out the window,” Natasha commented idly. She saddled up to his side at the counter, elbows digging into the granite as she cradled her face in her palms. She wasn’t looking at him but he didn’t think for one second she didn’t have an eye on him.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he is.”
“He’s probably keeping an eye out for the other Avengers.”
For Tony was what she didn’t say.
Are we Avengers anymore was what he didn’t ask.
“A smart move, considering.”
When she fell silent, Sam approached the refrigerator. Its contents made even him feel sorry: bread, butter, cheese, and an open twelve pack of water bottles. He needed to go shopping soon.
Sam reached in for a water bottle as she casually said, “He hasn’t been sleeping.”
Slowly, he straightened to his full height; took the time to uncap his bottle and take a swig of the cool water before answering, “I had a feeling he wasn’t.”
Steve didn’t need much sleep with the super soldier serum, but running on just a handful of hours for days at a time? That was extreme. Maybe that could be expected, given all he’d gone through in recent months. Maybe this was Steve’s way of processing grief. But it wasn’t healthy, and it wasn’t without consequences.
Hence being in New York.
Natasha let out a slow breath. He thought she was going to come out and say what she’d been hinting at—in their line of work, they didn’t have the luxury of beating around the bush—but she told him, “I’m glad he has a friend like you.”
Sam almost told her Steve had her, too, but thought better of it. He couldn’t put her in that position when she was determined to hug the fence.
“You talked with any of the others recently?” Sam inquired. He opened the refrigerator with his free hand, a silent offer, but she shook her head. The door closed with a quiet shnick .
Natasha threw him a mysterious smirk. He didn’t know her too well but he could have sworn her lips wobbled. He could have been seeing things, though.
“Clint said he liked your wings. He thought about getting a pair of his own, but I convinced him not to. One flying bird is all Steve needs.”
He was going to take that as a no. It did sort of surprise him. He thought Natasha and Stark had a weird, if effective, friendship. Something must have happened between them sometime during the fight at the airport and now.
Sam didn’t ask.
There was a brief silence. Both tried to figure out if there was any point in addressing the elephant in the room. Any point in addressing how Steve was unraveling.
Finally, Sam raised the proverbial white flag. It wasn’t like it’d do any good when Cap wasn’t around to hear their concerns, anyway.
“So… you meet the new kid? Spider Boy?”
_____
Tony had to hand it to him, for a technologically-challenged fossil, Steve was good at evading cameras. Tony didn’t expect to find Steve easily, of course, but it’d been a couple hours now. He should have found him by now. Natasha—or SHIELD, or the Army—must have given him a couple pointers for staying off the grid.
Tony glared at his computer screens. How was it Ross was able to find Steve, and not Tony , anyway? He had better resources; shinier toys. Friday. (He was not bitter at having been caught unaware. He wasn’t .)
He huffed at himself. Steve wasn’t a toy he didn’t want to share. He was a person—a person who needed to be brought in to the U.S. government, even if Ross hadn’t given the order for the Avengers to seek the others out.
His feet carried him to the glass window overlooking New York. The sun was setting; shop and home lights were beginning to flicker on. In an hour or two, cars would be mimicking fire flies and making just as much ruckus as they did in the day, street lights would light the way for pedestrians—not that it’d make much of a difference; people still didn’t look where they were going.
“Mr. Stark, if I may?”
“What is it, Friday?”
“I recommend you retire, sir. I will continue the search for Captain Rogers and awaken you if I find him.”
At the mention of Steve, Tony frowned. What was he thinking, coming back to New York? Why put himself at risk? Did he miss home? Was New York even home to Steve anymore? Did he want to prove he could sneak in and out of the country without getting caught?
Did he… Did he need Tony? The Avengers? Was he in danger?
Tony shook his head, forcibly dispelling that line of thought. Steve and his friends—not their friends , not anymore—had gotten themselves into the mess they were in. Refusing to sign the Sokovia Accords, instigating a fight with their former teammates, being on the run from the U.S. and other countries. None of it had needed to happen. But it did and now they had to deal with the consequences. Tony couldn’t—wouldn’t—bail them out.
They deserved to be hunted.
His damaged heart lurched painfully in his chest. Damn thing didn’t understand that logic outweighed any feelings he had on the matter.
He made a mental note to confiscate the sketch Steve drew from Ross.
“I’ll stay up for a while longer, Friday.”
“As you wish.”
_____
“That shield doesn’t belong to you.”
It does. It did . The shield was an extension of himself; the perfect weapon for him. He’d taken down Nazis, aliens and robots with it; protected his own with it.
It felt right to hold the shield in his hands.
His right forearm throbbed faintly with its missing weight.
Outside, cars honked at wayward pedestrians not following the crosswalk sign. People passed by each other on the sidewalk without blinking an eye.
Steve wondered if there would ever come a time he could disappear without someone after him.
“You don’t deserve it.”
God knew he didn’t.
At one point, he was almost sure he did. Erskine had chosen him to be the sole candidate for Project: Rebirth . He’d wanted a good man. Steve had been dubious about the idea—sure, he was a swell fella, but he wasn’t anything special. He wasn’t well-off or in good health. All he’d wanted to do was serve his country. Prove he could be like the men selflessly risking their lives. Be something greater .
But then he’d gone through war and loss and pain. He traveled through time. Somewhere along the line, he lost what it meant to be a good man.
A good man didn’t turn on his friends. A good man didn’t sacrifice his friends—the ones fighting against him or for him —to save one man.
But it was Bucky, a voice from too long ago whispered. A voice belonging to a skinny kid from Brooklyn who was furious about always being counted out because he was the little guy.
Steve sighed. That was the kicker, though, wasn’t it? If it had been anyone else, Steve wouldn’t have done all he did; he’d have been more forthcoming and willing to listen. Maybe he could have worked on the Accords; make them better, more accommodating. Maybe he could have talked to Tony in private about what happened with his parents.
He hadn’t. None of it had worked out for the better. Everything was… so screwed up now.
The choice had been Bucky. His Bucky. There was no other option.
No other acceptable option.
“My father made that shield! ”
Howard Stark made more than just the shield. He assisted in making Captain America , a far more recognizable achievement than a vibranium shield capable of defying the laws of physics.
His hands clenched into fists on the windowsill. The title of Captain America had a new meaning now. Nothing like it was in his time. (His old time.)
Then, it was about being a good man and a good soldier. Then, he was supposed to serve his country; save it. Whatever needed to get done, he did, regardless of approval or orders. Because lives needed saving and he was the only man who could get the job done. Well, him, Bucky, and the Howling Commandos.
Now, it meant surrendering his right to choose to the governments of the world. It meant handing Bucky over to people with agendas—agendas could change at any given time, without warning or negotiation—and allowing him to be used and treated as anything other than a war hero finally returning home. A tortured soldier who’d been forced to commit heinous crimes against his will. It meant being tying a rope around Steve’s neck, leashing himself like a dog and waiting to be told what to do.
Steve wasn’t all that good at following orders. His last stunt with S.H.I.E.L.D. alone proved that. Hell, his life after Sokovia proved it.
“Get outta the street, ya crazy broad!” a man in a taxi cab below hollered.
Steve scratched absently at his skin. He had healed up from his last fight in a matter of weeks.
“Bite me, ya fuckin’ prick!” a middle-aged business woman barked back.
How long had it taken for Tony to heal up? Was he even fully healed? Did Steve… God, he’d done a number on Tony’s suit; busted the ARC reactor. Had he cracked Tony’s ribs?
“What’d ya say, bitch?”
He swallowed hard. There wasn’t enough air in the room. His lungs burned and heaved in a way they hadn’t since he was a sickly kid. Poorly painted walls closed in on him; it was so hot in there.
“You heard me, asshole! Bite me !”
The world was so loud . Filled with too many people.
“Why don’t ya say that to my face, huh?”
He had to get out of there.
“Ha! Like I want to get any closer to your greasy ass!”
He needed to think .
There was no second-guess himself as he climbed out the window.
_____
It was too quiet. So many things could happen in silence. Slitting throats, planting trackers, taking pictures, downloading incriminating evidence.
She’d like to say her mind didn’t always turn down this road, but it did. She was trained to be an assassin and nothing would ever turn off her instincts.
Natasha knew Steve was the type to brood in silence or blow up angry. Seeing how nothing was being reduced to splinters via rage-fueled super soldier strength, she could only assume he was brooding.
Natasha didn’t have time for brooding super soldiers. They had to find a way to get out of the country undetected with Steve’s face plastered all over the local media and Ross’ men—and more than likely Tony—keeping an eye out for him. Them .
Steve may be fanciful enough to dream about seeing Tony again this soon and nothing going wrong, but Natasha wasn’t.
Silent as a panther stalking its prey, she padded down the hallway to Steve’s room. She knocked twice and called, “Steve?”
No answer.
She sighed through her nose. She loved Steve, she really did, but sometimes, he was just a walking, talking headache. “Steve, I know you miss everyone.” Tony . “But now isn’t the time for this. Bucky needs you.” She had no qualms with playing dirty.
Still no answer.
Natasha knocked again, this time more insistently. “Come on, Big Guy. I know today was tough, but put on your big boy pants and come out here.”
When he didn’t answer, she tried the doorknob.
It was locked.
A bolt of panic shot through her stomach. “Open this door, Rogers. Now ,” she growled through clenched teeth.
There was only silence.
Something wasn’t right. Steve would never ignore her like this. Not when things were so high-strung for them.
Stepping back, Natasha kicked the door in.
She swore colorfully.
Sam met her before she could get halfway out of the apartment. She didn’t let him get a word in edgewise. “Suit up. Steve’s missing.”