Archive of Our Own

I’ve been awake
To see the day devour the night
I’ve seen decay
Give way to growth
And make the most
Of nearly nothing

Kill Tilman and Silent Film
“Evelyn”

You’re the fire And the flood
And I always feel you in my blood
Everything is fine
When you heads resting next to mine, next to mine
You’re the fire and the flood

Vance Joy
“Fire and the flood”

Living in a world so cold, wasting away
Living in a shell with no soul, since you've gone away
Living in a world so cold, counting the days
Since you've gone away

Three Days Grace
“World so Cold”

--

Steve could look back, and see the moment when everything changed. When the world stopped spinning on it’s axis for the third time in his life. It was so easy, looking backwards to see how one thing had lead directly to the next. How he’d somehow wound up here, bruce’s blood on his hands, Ross’ form cowering in front of him.

Once, he would have walked away. He would have turned, and picked up Bruce and left Ross behind a quivering shell of the man he’d been. But then, that, was before. Before India and the fires, between the nights of holding Grey counting precious seconds until it was gone, before Bruce bleeding and broken and begging just to die.

He could hear, a queer buzzing in his ears, and his vision had spiraled down to a tunnel. And at the end of it was General Thaddeus Ross. He took a step forward, dropped his shield, and stared down at the man that had ruined all of it.

--
April

“Babe, you back yet?” Steve’s voice echoed down the hallway, and something about the apartment seemed off. It was too quiet. Hushed, with an artificial quiet that he wasn’t used to. As though it had been days since the last time the door was opened. Something nasty clutched at Steve’s chest but he pushed it to the side.

He kicked the door closed, moving towards the kitchen with his bag of groceries. He’d planned on making dinner for the two of them later tonight. A welcome back after nearly four straight weeks of their busy schedules pulling them in opposite directions.

Nothing on the counter, no dishes in the sink. For the second Steve’s heart skipped a beat, but for a second time he ruthlessly pushed it down. His eyes flicked back towards the living room, before moving towards the back of the flat where the bedroom and his studio were.

Bruce should have been home days ago, he’d told Steve yesterday that he was only a few hours from home after his mini-vacay with Jenny out in LA. His fingertips ghosted across the door, and it swung open silently.

The room looked the way it usually did after he’d been gone for a few weeks. The bed was made, small bric a brack of the life he’d—they’d—been building. At least, to most anyone it would have looked like a normal, if somewhat sparse bedroom.

Except that the bedside drawer was just a bit ajar, and the closet was opened. The door at an angle that Steve couldn’t quite see inside of. The pit in his stomach churned, and he could feel the tension drum up inside of him as he took a heavy step forward.

Bruce’s bag was gone. That bag was gone. He swallowed thickly, gorge rising up in his chest. Inside the bedside drawer, the one photo of Rebecca was gone as well as the small notebook of sketches that Bruce had knicked from Steve a few months ago.

But there was no sign of the phone Tony had foisted onto Bruce. Without thinking he hit the speed dial, hoping that perhaps Bruce had just been co-opted for a last minute mission. When Steve had left he’d been working with Tony on a new project, and planning to go spend a week with Jenny in LA.

“The number you have called is no longer in service. Please check the number, hang up, and try again.” The operator’s voice chirped at Steve, and he could hear metal creaking as his hand tightened over the Starkphone.

He lowered his hand and looked at the screen, something very close to panic washing through his blood. Steve took one step, and then another, making for the couch in the living room. Another flick of his thumb, and he could hear the phone ringing as though it were coming from a long way away.

“Steve you rascal, are you calling to make up for Bruce cancelling vacation this year?” Jenny’s voice was playfully, and somewhere in the background he could hear the sound of the ocean.

“Not in as many words.” He could hear his own voice, good humored and pleasant. “Bruce just forgot to update his calendar again, I’ve been in Argentina for a few weeks.”
Jenny went quiet on the other end of the line. Pleasant or not, nobody knew Bruce like she did. Not even Steve. “He mentioned that when we talked last. He mentioned a new project with Tony. I’d bet you can find him at the Tower.”

“I’ll bet that’s it.” Steve chuckled, but even to him it sounded hollow. “Thanks Jen. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“You betcha. Make sure you thwap him upside the head for me for worrying you. He knows better. Talk to you later Steve.” She disconnected the phone and Steve was left staring the screen of his own device.

All he had to do was dial Tony’s number. Call and ask if Bruce had holed himself up in one of the labs. Except that Steve already knew the answer to that question. Knew, because Tony had been in Argentina with Steve for the last week of the mission. Knew because Tony had been chattering about Bruce getting ready for his siesta with Jenny.

Knew that if he called Tony, his worst fears would be realized. Bruce was gone. Steve didn’t need anyone to tell him as much, he could feel it. In his chest, in the emptiness of the apartment. Not a note, not a thing out of place unless it was missing.

Nobody had taken Bruce. No, this would have required planning. Steve and Tony both out of the country for weeks. Jenny thinking he was working on a new project. A 15-day blackout where he couldn’t so much as use a landline, much less track down his lover. Easy for Bruce to just...slip away.

He’d run.

The phone fell from nerveless fingers, and it was like the air was just sucked right out of the room. He could hear himself wheezing to take a breath, and for a moment everything just...stopped. He could see the glare from where the phone had connected a call with Tony, hear the man’s voice as though it were coming from a million miles away, hear the sound of muffled traffic outside the sealed windows.

Then everything rushed back at Steve, and he gasped in a breath that tasted like razors and regret. For a moment his vision blurred, and he reached a numb hand up to his face, noting the moisture almost detached. He looked back down at the phone and picked it up as though he’d never really seen it before.
“Tony I-is uh, Bruce at the lab?”

“There you are Cap. Nah, remember he’s with Jenny this week. You gotta remember to update that calendar of yours, I know you like paper but this is what smartphones were made for.”

Steve shook his head. “Then it’s true then. He’s gone.” Steve closed his eyes, hunching himself against the pain and crushing the phone in his hand like it was nothing more than a scrap of used paper.

The emptiness of the apartment had seemed artificial to Steve when he’d gotten home, and now he knew why. Inside the refrigerator was nothing, it had been entirely cleaned out. There was no laundry to be done. Nothing for Steve to worry about.

The thought made him grit his teeth, jaw tightening as anger flowed through him like water. It swept aside the shock, and the pain as if it hadn’t been there to begin with. Falling into the anger, the temper he usually kept so carefully leashed, was easy.

Looking at Steve from the outside it would have been easy to overlook the anger that was shaking through him. Veins corded in his neck and along his arms, fists trembling lightly clenched as tightly as he could. He exhaled quietly and swore, low and harsh.

Bruce had made sure that there was nothing for him to worry about. Had left without a damn trace that he’d ever really been here at all. And Steve was beyond angry, he was out and out pissed off.

Not even a note. He didn’t even rate high enough on the scale for a sparse goodbye. No, this was easier. A clean break. No way for Steve to try and convince Bruce that this was his home. No way to try and make him understand that Bruce understood him, loved him, in a way that no one else ever had.

He exhaled again, and a frission of grief rocked through him viscerally. Steve could feel angry, heartbroken tears threatening behind his eyelids. But he didn’t want to fall into the grief. Instead his mind kept going over and over the room as though there were a detail he’d missed.

Something to explain what had happened, why Bruce had fled. But there was nothing. Not a blanket out of place, hell Steve’s pencils and sketchbook were still sprawled across the coffee table. Grief hammered against his anger like hail, and Steve wanted to give into it.

But it was too easy to hang on to his anger. Nearly two years of Bruce and Steve together. Countless stolen moments during missions and lazy sunday mornings. And not even a note? As the thoughts cycloned through his brain, Steve could feel the anger grow and multiply inside of him.

“God damnit!” Steve threw a punch, easily breaking through the wall. The pain was sharp and immediate. “God damnit Bruce.” His voice had fallen to a whisper, and withdrawing his hand from the wall the small abrasions were already healing.

“Cap?” Tony’s voice broke over Steve and he looked up and towards the front door. Tony stood there in one of those impeccably tailored black suits, his face confused. Concerned.

“Tony.” Steve’s voice sounded so very weary. He spread his hands to the side, splaying his fingers helplessly. “Bruce ran.” The words tumbled from his lips like stones, and Steve’s voice broke.

Something inside of him broke. He could feel the sharp pain, and fell to his knees, looking up to Tony. “He just. He just..left.” The angry tears that had been threatening him broke free, and a choked sob broke past his lips. Steve hid his face in his hands, breath hitching as he tried desperately to get some kind of control over himself.

He could hear Tony running into the bedroom, hear drawers flinging open. But the pain had broken past the anger, and as tears scalded his cheeks, Steve let it draw him into it’s embrace. Accepting the pain, letting it envelope him, something else started to grow inside his chest.

Bruce ran. Fine. There wasn’t anybody better equipped to chase him down than Steve. His lover thought he could outrun him, and sure, he had a hell of a lead. But Steve wasn’t about to let him get away without a fight.

--

June

The room was painted by the dim slats of pale yellow light that drifted across the floor of the shanty Steve had gotten himself for the night. Outside, there was the vague rumble of cars and people, the occasional bark of a dog on it’s leash, the clink of glass against glass.

Steve had fallen into the bed still fully clothed and more jet lagged than he’d been in weeks. Every time he thought he’d caught a break, he was too late. Always a step behind Bruce, always caught on the other side of the border, hunting for clues as to where his errant Physicist had run off to this time.

His waking hours were spent pouring over intel and wrangling locals. Taking his bike from one port city to the next, spending as many nights crashed out on a bedroll on the side of the road as he did with a roof over his head.

At night though, the four or five hours of sleep he managed to talk himself into, Steve got what he was hunting for. He got to see Bruce. Dreams of whiskey-brown eyes, and curls flipping over, the feel of Bruce next to him.

Steve could feel the exertion in his legs, his chest burning through air as he ran as fast as he could. In the distance he could hear that wet, gurgling scream as it broke through the woods, echoing around him, obscuring the source.

“Please, please no.” Bruce’s broken voice, wet and choking, before another scream was torn out of him violently.

Steve turned pivoted around a tree, and there was Bruce in front of him. He could see the arm of the man with the gun to Bruce’s head, the keening, and blood. Blood everywhere. Bruce’s eyes were so wide, the dark color of them nearly stolen by the whites around them, his legs were twisted beyond repair, and under him a slowly moving pool of blood was soaking into the dark earth.

He was still moving, but they didn’t see him. Not Bruce, and not the faceless person pressing the dull barrel to Bruce’s temple.

Steve put on another burst of speed, but he wasn’t fast enough, knew he wasn’t fast enough. “Bruce!!” His voice was like a roar, but it was too late, too late. The gun went off like an explosion, the dark haired man’s body flopping to the ground like a ragdoll.

Steve screamed, and screamed and screamed. Bruce was dead, or soon to be dead, or had been decomposing by the side of the river for weeks alone.

As Steve slept, his body was restless in the humid evening air. The bed had been made up before he’d gotten in, a few half flat pillows, and a thin sheet. A heavier blanket was folded up on a chair next to the bed, but even as the sun had set the heat from the day had just settled into the bones of this building, thick and oppressive.

It started with a small moan, as he thrashed from one side of the bed to the other. From the other side of the room the door crept open, and then shut in near silence. Steve began to mutter under his breath, thrashing from side to side.

The figure started across the room slowly, light slatting over his face revealing a mop of dense curls and vivid green eyes. Steve screamed, sitting up in bed, voice hoarse as he screamed Bruce’s name, sitting bolt upright in bed, blue eyes wide and unseeing.

Steve blinked against the darkness, eyes adjusting quickly but not quite seeing what was there. His brow furrowed as he looked at the edge of the bed. “Babe?” His voice was hoarse, and hope lit inside of Steve’s chest like a weak flame, fragile and easy blown out.

“Not quite.” Joe stepped into the silvery light, flowing out from the shadows. His voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

An aborted whimper broke from between Steve’s lips. Was he dreaming? One hand reached out. “You’re...here…?” He could still hear Bruce’s screams from the dream, a reel of the gun blowing him away playing over and over. It was messing with his head.

Joe moved, taking a seat on the far corner of the bed. Steve could see the pain, the uncertainty in his green eyes. Even though he’d felt the bed dip, he reached out a hand, so quiet so tentative. Half afraid that this was all just another dream, that his hand would just make the illusion disappear. Half afraid that it was Joe, because that meant two things.

One, that he’d been so close. So very, very, close to Bruce. Close enough that Joe had gotten front and gotten to him in the hour or two since he’d gone to bed. Two. That it had taken Joe getting front for him to come to Steve. That Bruce had been actively staying away. From him.

The thought hurt more than he thought it would. The proof, that Bruce was alive and well, but hiding from Steve as he chased him from country to country. A sick game of tag. It made him feel so very tired.

Except that then his hand touched Joe, felt the solid warmth of the man he loved best in all the world. And all of the long nights spent on the road, the weeks without knowing if Bruce was alive or dead, it was all suddenly worth it.

“It’s me.” Joe surged forward, capturing Steve’s mouth in a bruising kiss. He tasted like sorrow and regret, and love. Steve moaned into the kiss clutching onto the other man like a dying man taking a drink of water. “It’s Joe, Babe, it’s me.”

They broke from the kiss, Joe’s hand taking Steve’s jaw in a firm grip. “You’re looking waifish again.”

“Don’t.” Steve’s words fell somewhere between a plea and a command. He knew what Joe was going to say. Knew he hadn’t been taking care of himself as well as he ought. He was riding the edge of real exhaustion, toeing the line he could push himself to and stay functional.

“Oh sweetheart.” Joe’s forehead rested against Steve’s, and Steve could feel himself relax into the small gesture. It was so tempting, so very tempting to just fall into whatever this was. Let Joe distract him in just this moment. But he couldn’t do it.

Steve pulled back, searching Joe’s eyes with his own. “Tell me why?” His voice was so plaintive, and he hated himself for it. But Steve had never been any good at leaving things when they ought lie, and this was no exception.

Joe looked down, something Steve couldn’t quite read sliding across his face before being shuttered off. “You know what Bruce can be like babe, I only get so much of a say.” He looked back up. “And after tonight, doubt it’s gonna be anytime soon.” He shook his head as though searching for the words.

“Steve babe, this is…” pain filled those clear eyes, and a shudder ran through the slimmer man’s body.

“This is goodbye.” Steve’s voice wavered quietly in the darkness. “You came to say goodbye.” All of the heartache of the last few months seemed to be packed into those small words, each syllable dripping with pain.

“Yeah. This is-we get to have tonight babe. You and me, it’s-”

“It’s not enough.” Steve’s eyes had gone a little wild. “It’s not Joe it’s-”

“I know.” He swore viciously under his breath. “I know it’s not-it would never be enough. Not you and me and all of the tomorrows that are yet to dawn. It would never be enough.” His voice had gone raw, and he kissed Steve again, desperation clinging to the two of them. “We get tonight though. Just-just tonight. And then-then you have to stop Steve. Bruce will-he will never stop running. Never be convinced that he wouldn’t ruin you.” Grief hung heavy in his green eyes.

“Tonight.” Steve murmured, trying to hold back the pain. “We have tonight.”

“We have tonight.” Joe repeated back to him, his voice quiet.

“But Joe?” He smiled softly, the determination that had girded him for the last few months blooming back inside of his chest. “I’ll never stop chasing you.” He surged up for another kiss, capturing Joe’s lips, letting his hands explore.

Falling into the sensation, if only for the night, of having reclaimed the main that he loved.

--

Steve woke up slowly, sheets twisted around his legs, early morning light filtering through the room, the heat of the day already rising around him. Before he’d even woke up all the way, He knew that he was by himself.

The comfortable weight of Joe laying out next to him was gone, and even in the rising heat, the coolness of the bed said he’d left hours ago. The painful throb in his chest that he’d learned to live with ratcheted up a notch at that loss.

He’d fallen asleep as close to content as he’d been in months upon months. Curled up with one of the men who’d drawn him into this future. Even though Steve had known it wouldn’t last, that he’d wake alone, the ache of memory carved a path through him, a scar no eyes would ever be able to see.

He sat up slowly, legs swinging over the side of the bed, feeling rested for the first time since before Argentina. It didn’t make the pain hurt any less, if anything, it was worse. No exhaustion to dull the blade of Bruce leaving, nothing slowing down his mind or reactions.

Steve had never really gotten used to severe heat, and Sierra Leone in June felt like nothing so much as an oven. Reminded him too much of Brooklyn in the middle of summer when there weren’t even a few pennies to buy a lemon-pop, or something cool to drink most days.

Joe had asked him not to follow. Told him that Bruce would never allow himself to be caught. That Steve would be lucky to ever see his face again. That the man he loved, who he given up parts of himself for, was convinced Steve would be ruined. And Steve, for all his loyalty and trust and love. Above all of it love, had done the one thing that perhaps Bruce couldn’t forgive him for.

He’d lied.

Just before dawn, as Grey had held Steve in his arms murmuring him to sleep, Steve had promised. Sworn that he’d let them go. Let Bruce hide away. Promised he’d get over it, that he’d forget about them somehow.

As though that were even possible.

The night had been so tender, so broken hearted. He just hadn’t had the heart to tell Grey he’d never stop running after them. Never stop chasing the trail no matter how cold it got, never stop tracking them. To the ends of the Earth or beyond.

Instead of dwelling, instead of thinking of the lie he’d told to protect the heart of them both, he swung out of bed, splashed some luke warm water on his face and neck and reached for a clean shirt from his bag.

Less than ten minutes between waking up, and hitting the road, Steve’s mind was already working through all of the information he had access to. It had five, maybe six o’clock in the morning when he’d fallen asleep, still wrapped up in Grey’s arms.

It was barely 10AM, which meant that at most, Bruce had five hours on him. Problem was, Steve didn’t exactly have a lead on which way he went. And while he felt rested on the sparse sleep he’d gotten the night before, he did need to eat. An hour on the road, and he’d stop for food—along with calling Jenny and Tony to fill them in on the last few weeks.

Those updates, and the Stark Phone, were the only real lifelines he had back to the life he’d left behind. They were also the only way that he had convinced Jenny to stay in California, and her promise to stay in the States was tenuous. At best.

A few days ago he would have skipped breakfast, and put off the phone call. But Grey’s voice, quiet and chiding because he’d been able to see Steve hadn’t been eating was quiet and insistent at the back of his mind.

He pulled into a cafe, and grabbed a table ordering enough food for two people, before sighing and dialing Jenny’s number.

“Tell me you found him.” Her voice was breathless, a murmur of conversation in the background.

“Not exactly.” Steve’s voice was quiet, careful. Unsure of precisely how to proceed.

Jenny sighed. “Joe.”

“Joe.” He agreed, unsure of what to say next. If anyone else in the world understood the difference between Bruce and Joe, it was Jennifer. She was more protective of them than Steve, but had already lived through more than one of his running spells during the years since the accident.

“So he found you, huh? Typical. I’m sure Bruce would have strangled him for it if he could have.”

“Yeah. Jenny he-asked me to stop.” Steve swallowed. “To stop chasing them. That last night was it.”

“I mean, you know you can’t listen to him though. Right?” When Steve didn’t immediately answer her, Jenny started yelling. “Steven-I-am-the-shield-Rogers you listen to me okay? My cousin is gloriously messed up, and there is news about Ross being on the move. He’s not going to stop running, and you can’t either!”

“I lied to him.” Steve dropped the words in when she took a breath.

“You lied to him.” The anger had siphoned out of her voice, and she sounded as tired as he felt.

“I’m not going to stop chasing him. Can’t really. You know well as anyone i’m stubborn as a rock.” He huffed a bitter laugh. “I’ll keep you keyed in. You get any news I better be on your speed dial.”

“You bet. Steve-just-be careful. And find him.”

The call cut out, and he was left wondering whether it was just the reception, or whether Jenny had just hung up on him. Tony would probably be the easier call, and if Ross was up to something he’d be able to suss it out, but Steve couldn’t plumb up the steel in his spine to call. Food first, then Stark, then the road.

The sharp edge of exhaustion wasn’t far off. Close enough Steve could still see it, almost feel the sharp argument of a body that had been pushed too far, too fast, too long. Rest hadn’t been easy to come by, and even he had his limits. Though he was loathe to admit it.

Hadn’t been a choice when Tony had shown up at the room he’d rented out for the night and forced him to eat a real meal, and get a few solid hours of sleep before he fell out where he stood. That had been last month somewhere further south along the coastline.

If he concentrated, Steve could have remembered precisely where it was, recalled every syllable that Stark had thrown at him. “You can’t kill yourself chasing him down Steve. You kill yourself on this chase, and it’ll be as good as killing Bruce and you damn well know it. He’s not just going to let himself be caught and you are damn well better than this.”

Plowing through breakfast he hadn’t been able to stop his mind from continuing with it’s recall, now that it had started. Tony had thrown him the newest line of ‘indestructible’ Stark Phones, hollered at him to eat something and get some rest, and glared at him until he’d listened.

He could have fought with him about it. Except Tony had been right, and he knew it. He’d been averaging something like two hours a night, and the fact that Tony had been able to show up and boss him around so easily had proven just how close to the line he had been.

He hadn’t wanted to listen to Tony. Had wanted to yell at him, except that for once, the genius actually had him pegged. Chasing Bruce, was more like chasing Bruce’s shadow, and he was running himself into the ground.

In the last month he hadn’t been quite as bad. Steve hadn’t been doing well either, but it could have been worse. As usual though, he’d been skimping on meals, and even before Grey’s chiding, his body has been sending him the same kind of messages.

And while he could ignore them, he could only do it for so long.

Breakfast finished, Steve stared back down at his phone. Tony would know he’d skimped on the call after updating Jenny, and the last thing that he wanted was for Iron Man to show back up out of nowhere and throw him off course for a few hours.

Might as well get this over with, and see if he could catch his erstwhile lover’s scent.

--

August

Dharavi was on fire. It had started somewhere south of Steve, he had heard the gunshots before the fire started. Now the flame had a voice of it’s own made up of screams of those trying to flee it’s grasp, and the crackling as it ate it’s way through the shanty town.

He’d heard Hulk’s roar when it had started, but there had been no sign of his green giant. Somewhere near where the fire had started most likely, but he’d run away from the flames, not gone wading through the shantytown.

There had been a moment, between when he’d heard hulk and seen the massive fireball bloom over the side of the shanty town. A moment when he had to make a choice. To chase after Hulk, or to stay and help people get out. He’d made the harder choice.

He’d stayed.

The screams of a child distracted Steve, and he dashed towards the sound surrounded by chaos. People were wailing in the distance, the fire had taken on a life of it’s own eating through absolutely everything. The crowd was surging, breaking around him like waves around a rock in it’s path.

Another scream trying to tear Steve’s attention away, and there were just too many people. Too many crammed into too small a space, in homes that were barely kindling to begin with. He forced his way towards one of the buildings that looked sturdier than it’s neighbors, trying to get some kind of vantage point.

A child was screaming, half trapped between licking flames jumping up a wall, and Steve pulled them out, stunned when the little girl took off running as soon as her feet hit the ground. It was chaos. Screams, far off sirens, and above it all the mad crackling searing sound of a fire eating it’s way through absolutely everything.

Shaking his head, he scaled the side of a building not yet on fire, trying to see over the flood of people trying desperately to escape the chaos. The area that the fire had started uphill a little ways, so even from 15 feet up the view wasn’t great. Smoke billowed up from the ruins of the shanty town in thick acrid clouds that obscured even more. From above the chaos of the fleeing crowds there, he could hear something that he hadn’t quite heard.

Helicopters. Steve narrowed his eyes looking around and up, trying to spot them, hearing the blades whipping through the air somewhere above him. Without his suit on he wasn’t nearly as recognizable, but it would be ridiculous to think that the right people couldn’t easily pick him out standing on the roof alone.

To the West, away from the Chaos a single chopper dipped below the clouds for just a moment, barely a flash. But he could easily pick out the markings on the side of the chopper, and suddenly knew exactly what had happened.

It had been maybe an hour, perhaps closer to two, since the fire had errupted. Although, if that was who he thought it was, it hadn’t errupted so much as dropped from the sky. He had to get the hell out of dodge, and right now.

He dropped off of the roof, merging seamlessly into the river of human bodies, running away from danger. It was more difficult to break through them to the other side to get away from the slums.

SouthEast would have been been best, it was where Hulk had headed initially. The best Steve could manage was due East. A mile or two away, under cover of trees he stopped to take stock, Tony already speed dialed.

“Not a usual check in Cap?”

“Not so much, no. Jumped a continent since our last chat, but that’s not the problem. I need coordinates on Ross. Right now.” Steve’s voice was hushed, and flat, mind racing. If that was Ross, or his flunkies then he was no longer the only person chasing Bruce.

“You’re in India.” Tony’s voice was careful and measured, a question in there that he wasn’t asking out loud.

“Yeah, three days ago. I wasn’t sure if he was here, but a fire broke out and I saw a damn chopper Tony.”

“I’m on it, i’m on it.” Tony’s voice was flippant, but Steve could hear the commands to Jarvis in the background. He fought the urge to take back off, and looked up instead.

“I also need an overhead view if you have it. I didn’t see him, but I heard him.” HIs voice was quiet and calm, but there was an underlying strain that he couldn’t hide.

“View is on it’s way to you, but i’ve got bad news.”

Steve swore viciously. “Then it’s him.” Rage settled down and over his shoulders like a mantle, and Steve grit his teeth. “I’m gonna need an airdrop.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I can fit it in the bag, but when shit gets hairy..” His voice trailed off. “I don’t think he saw me, and I’ve been keeping my head down. But if Ross got eyes on him-”
“Go, but expect a visit soon.” The phone cut off and Steve took a look at the satellite photos that Tony had sent him while they were talking.

The area just around the shantytown was gone crumbles of buildings strewn like a child’s discarded toys, and there was a break in the nearby treeline where trees were snapped in half hanging limply, but past that Steve didn’t have much to go on. After months of doing this though, it was more than enough to get back on the trail.

His bike had died four weeks ago, but if he did this right, he could still suss out which way Hulk had taken off towards if he cut the right path. He was already at least an hour behind. Maybe two. There was no guarantee that’d he’d find Hulk, or Bruce, but it was a better lead than what had sent him to the slums earlier in the day.

Steve took off running, mind going through scenarios one by one. If it was just the one helicopter, they might be in luck, since the smoke from the fire had obscured pretty much everything. If any of them had actually spotted Hulk before he took off, than their lead might be a problem. Unless they actually caught up, in which case 50/50 odds at best, that they didn’t get smashed ten feet into the closest mountain.

His ground eating lope easily took Steve to where Hulk had gone smashing through the treeline. It was a fairly clear path to begin with, but at some point the ground became rocky enough that it was harder to discern.

Steve kept running.

--

January

The trail had gone cold. It was January, Steve was pretty sure the night was going to end with him snowed in. The weather was desolate, sky gone slate grey with clouds that were pouring snow down hour after hour.

This had been his last lead. Four months since the last time he’d had a solid idea on where Bruce might have gone. Two months since the Stark Phone had given up on life and he’d gone completely under the radar.

He’d found a small cabin to rent out for a weekend. It had one room with a bed, a tiny kitchenette, and a wood stove. Seemed sparse enough for him. The truth was, day by day, Steve was losing hope.

Last he’d heard Ross had lost the trail, but after months of being out of contact, anything was possible. He’d nearly caught up after India, but then Bruce had disappeared into Indonesia and Steve had lost all sight and sound of him.

It’d been months of chasing after ghosts, rumors that turned into nothing, weeks without so much as a whisper. Summer had faded into Autumn, and Autumn had given way to the cold bite of Winter. And now, he was somewhere in Kazahkstan, in a tiny cabin, while the wind whipped and snow fell slowly burying him in the cold.

There wasn’t much room in the cabin, just enough for a small track to pace back and forth along. He’d spent the afternoon stocking up wood inside the cabin after seeing the sky go pale with incumbent snow.

Now though, now when the sun was setting outside, and the snow hadn’t slowed down, much less stopped, now he felt pent up with too much energy. Truth be told, he had no clue where to go next. Kazahkstan had been a list ditch effort after finding a weeks old trail in Uzbekistan.

Frustration was thrumming through his nerves, and despite the wood stove running hot, he could feel the chill from outside. Since the ice he’d had an aversion to cold that went bone deep, with a mission he could push it to the side until the deed was done. Except that he’d already been here for more than a week, and had less than breadcrumbs to go on.

The desperation, and the heartache, and the anger were swirling through him and with no outlet he could feel a pressure building just under his skin. He wondered, if this wasn’t what hopelessness might feel like.

He couldn’t return to the states, pretend that he wouldn’t be looking for dark curls and a lanky frame everywhere he went. But he didn’t know where to go next either, and with no line of communication, he was lacking on backup too.

10 Months of running after Bruce had finally started to take it’s toll. Not on his body, or his mind, both still running admirably all considered. But his emotions were raw, loneliness and memories haunting him, awake and asleep both.

He couldn’t stop chasing Bruce, but after months of grasping at straws, his nerves were frayed. He was running out of options, and it wasn’t a thought that sat well with him. A heavy thud against the door brought him out of his reverie, and it flew open snow billowing inside.

“The hell?” Steve surged forward slamming the door shut just after a snow clad figure stumbled inside. The wind tried to fight him, but he easily managed to get the door shut again, and this time he threw the bolt for good measure, turning to the figure with a raised eyebrow.

Snow had packed onto their shoulders, but as it melted off and got shaken onto the floor, Steve recognized the slim cut of his shoulders. A hat tossed over onto the floor released dense dark curls, and any icy shard of a scarf melting onto the floor released those bright green eyes.

Steve wasn’t sure if Joe surged at him, or he surged at Joe. All he knew was that they were holding onto one another and kissing, and for a moment nothing else in the world mattered.

Joe pulled back eyes searching Steve’s, face nearly inscrutable. “You said you weren’t going to keep following us.” His voice was quiet, desperate.

“I lied.” Steve met Joe’s eyes fiercely. “I will never stop chasing you.” He smiled ruefully.

Joe surged back in kissing him again. Half frozen hands holding onto his broad jaw, as Steve pulled him in close. One hand Splayed between Joe’s shoulder blades, the other resting on his hip. “Looks like I’ve been an influence on you.” Joe leaned back just far enough to look up into Steve’s eyes.

“Took long enough.”

“Bruce won’t be pleased.”

They’d fallen into old habits, bantering back and forth lightly. Months spent without seeing had been a normal part of their relationship. Not to the degree, or severity of the last year, but enough that they could pretend normal.

But Joe’s comment about Bruce made him flinch just a little bit. “Never is.” He tried to banter back, voice half hoarse and weak.

“Ah babe.” Joe smiled wanly and swallowed. “C’mere.” He pushed backwards, leading Steve to curl up on the bed.

Steve let himself be lead over to the bed easily, grey wrapping him in his arms, one hand carding through his hair gently. “Joe-I”

“Shh, love. I know you’re hurting over this.” His voice turned sharp, bitter.

“He’s not going to stop running, is he?”

“I’m working on it, but after India —” Joe shook his head quietly. “Not anytime soon. He’s convinced himself that if he stayed, he’d ruin you.”

Steve closed his eyes, pain sharp and hot radiating through him, angry tears brimming at his eyes. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep up a good face. “I-”

“I know.” Joe’s voice was low, almost harsh, shadows from the fire playing over his face. “I know that it’s chasing him that’ll do it.” He cupped Steve’s cheek again, pressing in for a demanding, lingering, kiss. “I can’t stop him though, tonight was-a fluke. He saw you earlier and panicked. Thought he’d lost you weeks ago.” He kissed Steve again, their mouths crashing against each other.

“Chasing ghosts for months now.” Steve gasped against Joe, as those soft hands turned harder, more demanding as they roamed over his ribs and hips. “God I missed you.” Steve was melting into Joe, letting the stress of not knowing whether they were even alive drift away while he was wrapped in those strong, wiry arms.

“Missed you too.” Joe’s teeth nipped against the column of Steve’s neck, hands ghosting under his shirt to run along Steve’s stomach. “But I’m here now.” He leaned back stripping himself of the sweater and undershirt he’d been wearing, and Steve looked up at him drinking in the sight of that olive skin.

It lasted barely a moment, before Joe’s fingers were insistently removing Steve’s shirt and giving that wicked grin that always warmed something deep inside of him. It loosened something, and for the first time in months he laughed genuinely, sitting up so that his head didn’t get tangled in the sweater he’d donned for the day.

“There’s my boy.” Joe’s voice was barely more than a murmur, but it still raised a flush to Steve’s bared skin. Steve smiled slow, and bit his lip rising up and off of the bed to stand in front of Joe. He met his lover’s violently bright green eyes, and kept that eye contact as his hands worked at his pants, sliding them off.

“I want you.” Steve’s voice was steady, but insistent and he smiled at Joe, hoping the other man wanted him just as badly.

Joe’s grin deepened and stepped out of his own pants, pushing Steve back down and onto the bed. Steve let his slighter love manhandle him back down, reaching up to keep kissing Joe. So long as they were kissing, touching, he could fall into the sensation. Lose himself, at least for a little while.

As they kissed, Joe’s hands roamed lower, and Steve bucked into the contact a needy moan escaping from between his lips. They rutted against one another, a tangle of limbs, exploring bodies they had long ago memorized.

Steve laying on his back arched into Joe, falling into the sensations of those hands on his body. Joe grinned at him and nipped at Steve’s shoulder, while one hand grasped him around the shaft, eliciting another long, low, moan.

Somehow, Joe had always had a hold over him that even Bruce didn’t manage. A way that he looked at Steve and saw something else. He was never more vulnerable than he was right now. His pulse beating wildly against Joe’s teeth, hand pumping his cock easily, while Steve grasped onto his shoulders.

He felt like he was falling apart at the seams. “Stay with me babe.” Joe chuckled at him, releasing his hold on Steve’s neck, crawling down the length of him leaving small swipes of his tongue and nips of dull teeth along his stomach. “Can’t have you missing out, can I?” He murmured again.

Steve arched up into each small touch, eyes falling shut, one hand fisting in the quilt lain over the bed. Joe nipped at his thighs, before licking a long slow line from his balls up to the tip. Steve’s whole body quivered, and he gasped hotly.

“Mmm.” Joe groaned, taking Steve into his mouth, and suckling down the length of him. After months of only feeling his own hands, this was intoxicating. Steve thrust up once before managing to still his hips.

One hand reached out, tangling in Joe’s hair, and those green eyes flicked up and met his. It struck him right in the chest. Joe watching him, Steve watching as Joe swallowed him whole. It pulled another long moan out of him and his head tipped backwards, eyes slipping shut from the feeling.

//

Steve let Grey curl into the nook of his arm, the quilt pulled up to keep them from the chill. Outside, the snow was still pelting itself at the windows, leaving the night sky a dim grey. They’d be lucky if the storm ended before sometime tomorrow afternoon.

Can Grey hold on that long? Steve was so used to stolen nights, or afternoons with him, that he couldn’t easily recall the last time they’d had more than a few hours at a clip. If Bruce decided to make a push, he could probably grab control while they slept—if they slept.

It was a thought not worth mentioning out loud. There was something more going on, he could feel the heady thrum of desperation from Grey. He wasn’t used to it, and Steve knew—just knew—that it was going to come up.

Still, he let Grey curl into him for a moment, the weight of his body, the feel of his hair through Steve’s fingers. He could feel it, when Grey decided to speak up, the moment where he made the decision, the second before he spoke.

“You know I’ll always come back for you when I can.” His voice sounded quieter than Steve was used to. “But Bruce..” he sighed. “Bruce is going to keep running until you catch him. He’s up to something. After India..” Grey’s voice trailed off and Steve filled in the gaps.

After India, Ross nearly caught us.

Steve kept turning Grey’s words over and over in his mind. Bruce is up to something. “When you say up to something?”

“I don’t know. He’s been hiding it from me, I can’t tell what it is. But I know how he acts when he’s trying to hide something from me.”

Steve sighed, and pressed a kiss to the top of Grey’s head. “I won’t stop chasing you, not either of you. I can’t tell him because I know he isn’t-but I can tell you. I will never stop chasing you. Not unless the both of you truly tell me to stop. Want me to stop.”

Grey flipped around, moving up to Steve’s mouth, kissing him pressing their bodies back together. “Told you a long time ago, I am never leaving.” He bit his way into Steve’s mouth, teeth knocking together. “You’re mine.”

“Good.” Steve agreed kissing him back, one hand dancing along Grey’s jaw. “Just wish your other half felt the same way.” The words drifted between them, concrete and heavy.

Grey have him a rueful look. “You’d have to get in line on that one love. Just, keep running, because we might be running out of time.” Grey’s words settled into the space between them, and rang with a truth that Steve couldn’t argue with.

--
March

Steve had forgotten, just how loud Manhattan was. How big it was. Standing at one of the windows in Stark Tower, watching as everyone crawled by on the pavement below. Three weeks short of a year since the last time he’d been in New York City.

There were places that still felt like home, and somehow Stark Tower had been added to that list. Places where he didn’t feel completely out of sorts, for Steve, so much of the city was lost to him. If he thought about it much it would be disconcerting.

“Steve.” He turned in response, cocking an eyebrow at Tony.

“I know I’m late. But I figured it was time to check in.” Steve splayed his hands, beaten knapsack at his feet.

Tony looked at him for a long minute, quieter than Steve was used to. As though he were measuring his response. After nearly 5 months off the radar, he’d expected the billionaire have an apoplexy.

“Cap you’re lucky I’ve been drinking for two hours.” Tony turned and headed back towards his labs, waving over his shoulder to indicate Steve ought to follow. Steve watched him for a long moment, before shouldering his pack and following slowly.

The lab they entered had a massive screen filled with a half dozen different video feeds. One was of the slum burning in August. By the time the blaze had been put out, nearly ¾ of the slum had been destroyed. The official call was that the heat had ignited something, and that it had only been a matter of time.

Any mention of helicopters, explosives, or the hulk had been scrubbed, but Tony had apparently gotten hold of the video feed from before it had been cut and distributed. It showed the last of the fire being hosed down, a torn path through nearby woods breaking away to the East.

“I was wondering when you’d deign to join me actually.” Tony started conversationally, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand while he took a seat in a rolling chair. “Seeing as how I’ve been trying to figure out where the hell you disappeared to for three damn months.”

Steve winced. Knew he’d have torn ass if he’d been the one left out of the loop. Just because Tony didn’t have the ability to drop everything and run didn’t mean that he deserved to get cut out entirely. “It wasn’t on purpose.” He turned his head, jaw tight.

Tony shot him a sour look and knocked back the rest of his whiskey. “Much as I would love to tear you the new one you so desperately deserve, I’m rising above.” Tony turned back to his work area and poured himself another drink from the decanter sitting there. “You got lucky. Jenny begged me not to go looking, convinced one or the other of you would show up.” He took another long swallow. “Looks like she had it right.”

Steve grit his teeth, trying not to set off Tony because fr the second time in a year, he was entirely correct. “He’s not dead, but something bigger is going on.” Steve interrupted Tony’s half-rambling dialogue.

“You saw Bruce?”

“Joe.”

Tony shot Steve another inscrutable look, aborting his movement to take another long swallow of whiskey and putting the tumbler down. He cracked his neck. “Where? When?”

“I saw him in Kazahkstan in January, but I didn’t lose track of him until a week ago in Nigeria.” His lip curled, temper shining through. “There was an ops team in the area, so I took them on a goose chase through Chad. Lost them and him in the process.” Steve curled his hand into a fist trembling at his side. “I was so-close Tony.”

Steve could hear the desperation in his voice, the fine tremble of anger and-something else thrumming through it. He wanted a drink, he wanted to put his fist through a wall, he wanted to snap the neck of the black ops commander who had tried to catch Bruce through him. He wanted to catch up to Bruce.

He’d gotten nearly 24 hours with Grey in January, while they were snowed in. When he’d finally left, during a lull in the storm, Steve had chased after him. A Winter spent running south through Europe, and Asia down into Africa.

Bruce had put on speed after Kazahstan. For the first time he hadn’t just been running from Steve, he was fleeing as fast as he damn could. He’d lost two days with the commandos drawing them away from him, so close that he could almost hear Bruce’s voice again.

48 hours was all it had finally taken. No trail, no nothing, and he’d lost him after 11 months. It was why he’d finally succumbed to the guilt and headed back to Manhattan. Without a solid lead, he needed Tony’s help to find Bruce’s tracks again.

“I’ve got eyes out.” Tony’s voice broke through Steve’s thoughts. “But if we don’t find something soon Jenny is gonna be here, and you are in capital T trouble cap.” Tony raised an eyebrow at him and then tossed him a phone he’d dug out of the desk somewhere.

Steve caught it easily. “It’s a replacement for whatever you did to the last one.” Tony’s voice was almost bland. “Don’t lose my number this time, huh?” He leveled Steve with a shrewd look. “Now come, regale me with tales of your trip while we wait for this baby to ping us with some info, huh?”

Tony stood up and steered Steve out towards the kitchen, with one hand at the small of his back. “Jarvis, let me know when we’ve got something. Gotta get some food in this super soldier before he falls out on me.”

Behind them the display continued to run dialogues, looking for new, videos, sightings...any news of Bruce. Or the Big Guy.

May

Spring had come slowly this year, an icy miserable March blending into a rainy desolate April. Steve had thought-hoped-that something would ping through Tony’s system. Some kind of blip that would give them a lead, something that Steve could run after.

Instead there had been nothing. Jenny, incensed at him for going AWOL for months, had started speaking to him only to comfort him that Bruce had probably found a burrow hole. Gone to ground. Hiding instead of running.

That thought didn’t help much. Tony was convinced it meant that when they got a bearing to head towards, that it would be easier to catch him. Steve was less convinced, to say the least. So instead of crawling through Jungles, learning a new dialect, chasing Bruce, he was cooling his heels in Stark Tower.

He was surrounded by everything he could ever want. But all he could think of was having Bruce back in his arms. When he’d taken off last year, he’d known somehow, that catching up to his scientist wouldn’t be easy. But he’d thought that he’d be able to find some way to find him again.

After a year, it was obvious that this was going to be a marathon, not a sprint. Even though Tony and Jenny were pitching in, this was not a relay. If anyone could catch them, it was Steve, and all of them knew it. Sometimes, he thought that Bruce knew it too.

Another jab into the heavy bag had it swinging, unruly in the dim lighting of the gym with the night sky reflecting outside. Steve righted the bag, tried to ease the tension from his shoulders. Another jab, and he fell back into the motions, skin sweat-slick from the hours he’d been in here already.

Joe would come for him if he could. A quick left jab. Bruce wouldn’t face him. A flurry of sharp blows into the middle of the bag. They’d been somewhere in Africa, but it had been months. Two more solid blows that nearly blew the bag off it’s hook. He settled the bag a second time.

Ross was looking for Bruce. An uppercut into the meat of the bag. Joe said Bruce was up to something. That they were running out of time. Two heavy hits into the bag sent it swinging. Bruce was alone and running and Steve was stuck here in Manhattan instead of tracking him down. Steve grunted and threw a heavy punch and the bag flew off of it’s hook thumping against the far wall.

Steve swore, chest heaving. Coming to the gym was supposed to help him deal with his thoughts, not add weight to them. Not that anything less than news from Tony was going to ease his mind any. Without a direction to be pointed in, he was useless right now.

For the first few weeks it had been good for him, loathe as he was to admit it. Catching up on sleep, and food that he’d been neglecting. Made sense why Tony had been so quiet for the first week, Steve had shown up in the Tower looking half dead.

After the first two weeks though, Steve was left with too much energy, too much to do, and no way to jump in. He was a tool, without a use, and running in circles was driving him slightly insane. He’d seen Natasha last week, but she’d been on her way out of the building. He knew that there had been missions He could have gone with her on.

That might mean missing out on a lead on Bruce though, and that was not something Steve could consider after a year. Their team had plenty of members, all with their own lives they had to juggle. Only Steve could drop everything, drop it and leave it behind to find Bruce. To try to bring him home.

If he wanted to come back.

Steve grabbed a towel, wiping down the back of his neck, before meandering towards the pile of heavy bags he’d chucked across the room this evening. He couldn’t be sure that Bruce would ever come back. It was an unspoken understanding between Tony and himself. That if Bruce didn’t return, neither would Steve.

It sounded insane. Captain America, putting down the shield to hide in a third-world country with his boyfriend. Steve would though, if he had to. If it meant that Bruce was safe, and Steve had him, he’d drop the shield and everything that went with it and disappear. Or attempt to at least. Hiding his face was often easier said than done.

Steve collected the bags, dropping them off in the closet he’d initially pulled them from. Turning he saw Tony standing in the doorway. Shadows played over half of his face, errant shafts of light turning his whiskey a deep gold-brown.

Same color as Bruce’s eyes. The thought rose unbidden, and Steve shoved it back down ruthlessly. All he had was time, and thoughts like that were absolute torture. Instead, he let his eyes adjust trying to meet Tony’s eyes.

It was dark, too dark really. Except that the Arc reactor’s pale glow blue showed through Tony’s ACDC t-shirt, illuminating his face in a ghostly glow. Steve could make out the line of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the liquid darkness of his eyes reflecting the pale blue light.

“Hard at work Cap?” His voice had a slight drawl. He’d been drinking again.

“Gotta do something to keep my mind off of-things.” Steve pulled the towel off of his neck toweling off his hair.

“Hmm.” A smirk pulled at Tony’s lips and his eyes flicked up to Steve’s hair and back. “When was the last time you let someone take a swipe at your hair?”

Steve laughed running a hand through it self consciously. “It’s been a bit, I’ll admit.” He gave Tony a pointed look. “Priorities, as you know.”

“Well, we have time, and my stylist is downstairs. You should take a shower, and meet me in the commons. Trust me.” Tony winked and sauntered his way down the hallway. Steve didn’t want to think about the fact that he watched him do it.

//

Steve took a look at his hair in the mirror resisting the urge to run a hand through it. He couldn’t argue that his hair had been ridiculously grown out, barely touched since last spring. There just hadn’t really been the time, and when there was, it hadn’t been a thought he wanted to consider.

Somehow it made the time that had passed more real, as though the past year had just been a terrible dream and getting a haircut would be how it became real and concrete in this world. It was absolutely ludicrous, but he just didn’t want to think about it.

There were a lot of things he didn’t want to think about lately, and a few that he couldn’t get off of his mind. The night had been sliding through his fingers, moments lost in time. He couldn’t steal them back, couldn’t get back each moment that he was separate from Bruce. That was time gone. Lost to them, lost to both of them.

Steve looked at himself in the mirror, blue eyes reflecting brightly in the white tiled bathroom. He didn’t see himself, not the way he was used to seeing himself. On the outside, he looked the same. The difference was all in his eyes. Something harder, older.

As though he could see everything that he had lost swimming within their depths. But he hadn’t lost everything. Not yet.

“Captain Rogers?” Jarvis’ voice spoke over the intercom, freezing Steve’s blood as he looked at himself in the mirror. “Movement has been detected. Master Stark needs you in the lab immediately.”

Steve didn’t waste a moment. He trotted out of the bathroom, grabbing his knapsack from next to the door to his suite, and took off at a sprint for the lab. It was 6 floors, but he took the stairs, unwilling to lose any kind of lead Tony had gotten.

It took about three minutes before he burst through the door to Tony’s lab, skidding to a stop. “Jesus you’re not even out of breath, are you Rogers?” Tony shook his head and then nodded his chin at the screen. “I haven’t actually seen him, but there’s another factor.”

Fear flashed through Steve’s chest, cold and violent, as his eyes took in the eight-screen monstrosity Tony had been using to track Bruce. “Is that…” His lip curled unpleasantly, the low banked fire in his chest riding to flames once again. “..General Ross?” Steve could feel his nose flaring, heard the timbre of a growl in his voice.

Tony’s eyes flickered over Steve, a queer light filling them and then disappearing in an instant. “Yeah, it’s fucking Ross all right. Hope you’re ready for this.”

Steve couldn’t help the snarl when he met Tony’s eyes. “They made me for this.”

--

June

It felt as though his skin was going to melt right off, surrounded by thick jungle and an oppressive heat, Steve measured his breathing. He was close. 50 yards ahead, maybe 60 tops, was Bruce. He could hear him.

It was so tempting. To just keep crawling through this endless undergrowth, stay quiet and finally, finally, catch up. Bruce kept running, and Steve kept chasing, but this was the first time he’d heard his voice in over a year. If he cleared this next patch of undergrowth, he’d be able to see him.

More and more though he was thinking that wasn’t an option. The commando team that had been chasing Bruce were close, too close. He had lost sight of them last night, but they’d been trained by that psychopath Ross for exactly this purpose.

As though the thought triggered them, Steve heard the shouts of men in the distance. They were still a ways off, but he could hear them shouting about a helicopter. He surged forward again trying to break his way through when he heard a man curse to his left. Close, too close by at least half.

If he warned Bruce now, then he could run again. Steve could distract the team, and let him get away. There was never any question of what he was going to do. He stilled, every fiber of his being quieting arrowing in on exactly where the soldier was crouched.

In one fluid motion Steve stood, flinging his shield at the soldier and surging towards him. Out of his periphery he could see Bruce startle. “They’re here. Run!” Steve’s voice snarled, as gunfire began to pepper the air around him. He dove through the air, grabbing the shield as it bounced off of the soldier and ducked behind a tree with his back to where Bruce had been.

He could hear the movement of the other 4 soldiers in the team as they fanned out in front of him, bullets snapping the air next to his head. Steve crouched back into the jungle’s thick undergrowth, using it to his advantage. It worked long enough for him to chuck his shield again, but the angle slammed the shield into a tree nearly impaling it in two.

Two down, three to go. He pulled his sidearm, firing quickly and driving one of them into cover. Another was firing at him from a 45 degree angle to the left, but he’d lost sight of the third. His shield was impaled in between him and the two that he still had eyes on.

The third, a wiry young man sprung up at him from the undergrowth, firing four times. It missed twice, but one caught Steve low in the abdomen, the other rocking back his shoulder. He snarled shooting the man at nearly point black range, moving towards his shield as fast as he could.

In the distance he heard a familiar enraged roar, and it gave him the extra half second he needed to grab his shield out of the tree and throw it against one of the remaining goons, grunting at the exertion.

The shield bounced back into his hand by sheer luck, and Steve could feel a burning pain spreading through his chest from where the bullets had caught him. He couldn’t stop moving though. One left up, he charged at the remaining extraction team.

Another hail of bullets 4 shots, and steve slammed into him with his shield, spinning. One more bullet fired as he pulled back from the crunching blow, this one catching him and grazing along the side of his temple.

Pain exploded from the fresh wound, exacerbating the burning wrenching pain in his chest and abdomen. A gloved hand touched one of the wounds, coming back bloodier than it ought to have. He staggered, nearly falling to his knees, grabbing onto a nearby tree to help steady him.

The rounds were laced, and who knew what with, or how it would react to his blood. Steve trudged limply through the undergrowth towards the clearing where he’d heard Bruce. He needed to phone in for extraction, but he’d been so close, so damn close.

His vision going slightly hazy, Steve could feel it as consciousness started to dropped out from underneath him. He slapped at the com unit on his cowl, the new one that Tony had insisted he take before dropping him into the jungle four weeks earlier.

“Icon is down, JollyGreen is out of danger.” He panted. “Code red.” He didn’t hear the squawk of Jarvis connecting him with Tony, who had been hip deep in his newest suit. He didn’t hear anything at all.

---

It was the quiet of the room that was jarring, even for a hospital. No tech, just a bruised man lying almost too quietly underneath the thin pale sheet. His chest was rising and falling, but it was so shallow, so painfully shallow. Bruce knew he shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t be anything near here.

It would have been easier if he had kept running, gotten far away that he could finish what he’d started. Take the time that he so desperately needed. Except that Steve was lying unconscious and half dead after stopping a black ops team sent to collect him.

The thought made him want to shudder. This was his fault, his and no one else’s. Distantly he could hear Joe yelling but Bruce tuned him out, usual procedure these days. He shouldn’t have come. If he’d kept running he could have finished this, finished all of it and had it been over.

He had wanted to spare Steve of all of this, hadn’t this been why he’d run? Because he’d known that he was the tool of Steve’s destruction. He’d grown up idolizing Captain America, and then when he’d met the man, he’d been so much more than Bruce had ever bargained for.

He’d known that he had a thing for the Captain, but falling for Steve had been something more. And Steve falling in love with him had been wholly unexpected, and terrifying, and from the first time they’d kissed on top of Stark Tower, Bruce had known he was going to ruin him somehow.

Standing here in a stolen labcoat, he was surprised no one had tried to stop him. Though for all he knew that was by design. Standing here though none of that mattered, all that mattered was getting through today, and then finishing what he’d started a year ago.

Ross and his goons were getting better at finding him, and they’d nearly done it this time. If it hadn’t been for Steve, they’d have caught him and considering the way the Super Soldier had gone down, it wouldn’t have been pretty.

It had been almost four days, and Steve was in a private clinic. He hadn’t woken up. Bile rose in Bruce’s throat, desperate thoughts vying to consume him bodily. “I’m so sorry.” The words fell out of him, and he took a quiet step closer.

Though Steve’s breathing was shallow, it was steady, and the wounds from the bullets had started to heal. Much slower than usual, but still faster than any other human could really hope for. Standing above him, Bruce had never felt like more of a monster than he did right there. He’d nearly gotten Captain fucking America killed because he couldn’t do the one thing that he needed to.

Just one thing, and it would all be over. Bruce brushed a few tangled curls out of his eyes, taking in every tiny detail about Steve. This would after all, be the last time he saw him. He was so close, but he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he’d wound up dead trying to protect Bruce.

Protect Bruce, Hulk, and Joe.

He’d had to see, with his own eyes that Steve was alive. He’d been hoping to just see him from across a crowded street, able to get his fix and then fade back and out and away. He was good at being invisible after so many years of hiding from Bryan, and then hiding from everything else.

Carefully Bruce reached down and gently pushed the hair off of Steve’s forehead, a tender smile catching his lips. For not the first time, the thought that he should just stop this, and go home occurred to him. It was tempting, but this right here was why he couldn’t do it.

Steve might never stop chasing him, but neither would Ross. And Bruce couldn’t bear to see Steve hurt trying to protect him. His smile turned wistful and he leaned down for a moment, whispering. “Don’t blame yourself. This was never you.” Bruce stood up, swallowing the lump in his throat thickly and turning for the door.

“B-r-uce?” Steve’s voice was weak, and he sounded like he needed a drink. Horror bloomed heavy and acidic in Bruce’s chest. And he stopped at the door looking over his shoulder. “I love you, and i’m sorry. Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon.”

He brushed out of the door, feeling his heart shatter and crumble, listening to Joe rage as he threw himself against the walls of their mind hopelessly. He alerted a nurse that her patient had woken up and walked out of the clinic.

600 miles from where Steve had warned him about the goon squad, and Bruce needed to find a lab. He was close. So very, very, close. Ross would never stop chasing him, never stop trying to get at Hulk and use it for his own devices.

So he’d made a decision. Before he was any more attached to Steve. Before Steve forgot what life before him had been like. Before he became to integral to anyone else. Suppress the hulk, and end it for all three of them.

It was harder than it would have been with Tony’s labs back in Manhattan. But he’d never be able to hide it. Not from any of them. He’d barely been able to keep it from Joe, but practice really did make perfect.
Bruce squared his shoulders and headed north out of the small town where the clinic was located, heading for the lab he needed to finish everything once and for all.

September

The late September air was cool and crisp, a welcome respite from the thick oppressive heat that haunted the painful Summer while Steve had recouperated. Whatever those damn bullets had been laced with had put him out of commission in a big way, and for once he was thankful that Bruce hadn’t poked his head out of whatever hole he’d buried himself in this time.

Tony had found him, barely alive, and then gotten him to a clinic until he was stable enough to bring back to Stark Tower. There hadn’t been any trace of whatever had been in it left in his system, which meant no way to backwards engineer it.

But they had both known what those rounds were meant to do. Put down the Hulk enough that they could snatch him up for their boss.

“How’s it goin’ Cap?” Tony’s sardonic voice dragged Steve from his thoughts and he looked away from the window he’d been looking out of.

“Better than it was a few weeks ago.”

“Well, now that you’re back to yourself, we can throw things back into high gear.”

“Did He-”

“Nah, no luck on that front quite yet, but I’ve got everything running.” Something lurked in Tony’s eyes, and Steve could feel it too. In a different time he would have asked, but he just didn’t have it in him.

“Ah.”

“Doc says you’re back up to speed, so I figured i’d let you know.” He nodded and paused for a moment. “I’ll be in the lab, come find me in a bit, yeah?”

Steve watched as Tony walked away, something forbidden swirling deep in his chest. Seeing Bruce, hearing his voice and watching as he’d left the room of the clinic had scooped something out of his insides.

Even if he hadn’t felt like a kid all summer, weak and wheezing and lacking the stamina he’d come to almost rely on, Steve felt hollowed out. He wasn’t about to stop, because he couldn’t. But, the hurt had wounded him in a nearly physical way.
It had been Tony picking up the pieces. Stripped of his speed and strength, even temporarily had brought down some wall that had always existed between the two of them. They still clashed, but it lacked the fervor and ferocity of their earlier exchanges.

And it worried Steve, because he wondered if this was what Bruce had been banking on all along. But he couldn’t dwell on it, couldn’t dwell on anything but getting them back. He’d promised Grey, and knew, knew what Bruce was like.

It wouldn’t be until Steve looked him in those dark eyes and convinced him to come home that they had any hope of a fightng chance. But the way Bruce had looked at him over his shoulder was haunting Steve, pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together to form a picture he couldn’t voice out loud.

And if he was putting it together, chances were Tony had already figured it out.

He hopped out of the chair, and cracked his neck. Next to the door of his suite was a tattered bag that held his gear and he picked it up absently, closing the door behind him heading down to the labs.

//

Tony was in one of the adjunct labs that he’d once shared with Bruce for some of their shared projects, but Steve found him easily enough. Somewhere along the line he’d gotten used to the labyrinth that was Stark Tower.

There were three giant screens all running logs of some kind, while Tony looked at documents floating around him. “Hey.” Steve leaned against the doorjamb, dropping his bag to the ground next to his feet.

Tony’s eyes looked at the bag and he raised an eyebrow. “Goin’ somewhere?”

“Just keeping it around for when he makes a mistake.”

“Yeah. About that. We, have a problem.”

“I really hope you’re not about to tell me what I think you’re about to tell me.”

Tony took a long drink from the whiskey tumbler that seemed permanently attached these days. “I think Bruce has gone and lost his damned mind is what I think.” Tony said sharply, gesturing at everything around him angrily.

“Joe said Bruce was working on something but hiding it from him.”

“And Bruce has always been adament about Ross. You’ve seen it first hand.” Tony flinched, but Steve waved it off.
“I know what you meant. That it was in his blood, and yeah I’ve seen Ross. But between you and I, I always thought we had it covered.”

“Steve I think Bruce is trying to kill himself.” Tony’s voice wavered and he slugged backt he rest of the amber liquid in his tumbler.

For the first time Steve noticed just how off Tony looked. His hair was up at an angle, the bottle of whiskey was more than half gone, and there was a wildness in his eyes that Steve didn’t like the look of one bit.

Not one bit at all.

“We’re not gonna let him though.” Steve’s voice was quiet, and he moved in slowly like Tony was a wild animal.

“I always figured we’d find him sooner or later, you know?”

“We are.”

“But if he..”

“He isn’t going to.” Steve reached Tony and put his hands on the other man’s shoulders, steadying him. “But we have to move fast, because I have feeling Ross has a read on him.”

Tony frowned and headed back to the room where everything running searches to find Bruce were located, Steve following closely. “Why would you even say something like that?”

“Because they knew where he was last time, and we’ve been more or less out of the game since this morning.” Steve paused. “And because I know he saw me in that clinic.”

Tony stopped short and turned to Steve. “And you deigned not to tell me because?”

“Because he saw me wake up and left.” Steve shook his head, grief making his chest heavy. “But it was the look in his eyes like he hadn’t really made up his mind.”

They walked into the room as every screen started flashing red, alerts blaring over the screen. Tony sobered up immediately, and aura of calm rolling over his features. He slid behind one of the monitors, fingers flying across the screen.

“Grab a ride Cap. You’re goin’ to Congo.”

//

Steve hadn’t been wrong about Ross being on Bruce’s trail, but he wished Tony had actually kept him all the way in the loop whether he was supposed to be healing from his last run in or not.

When they’d dropped him into the rain forest there had already been two teams down and on the move, but the bigger problem was that Ross himself had made the journey. Which really only meant one thing.

This was the end game, and he either came back with Bruce or a part of him was never going to come back at all.

Unlike before, they were as far as you could get from civilization as you could get in India, and yet there was still some kind of building up ahead. The new uniform that Tony had designed for him was heavier than he was used to, thanks to the new plating to avoid another incident, but Steve was still moving faster than he’d anticipated.

He heard them before he saw them, and Steve went cold. The building in front of him was actually a series of old dilapidated buildings that probably hadn’t houses people in upwards of twenty years. There were four Ross’ black ops team standing at the corner talking, rifles leaned up against the building.

He was too late.

Something inside of Steve broke. He ambushed from the treeline, throwing his shield ahead and knocking two of them out before deftly catching it and landing another kick. The fourth went down with a series of punches that left him in a bleeding heap on the ground.

Steve moved quietly, even after the commotion he’d just caused. He found the bodies of three other men on the ground and then he came around the corner.

Bruce was lying in a pool of blood, his face more blood than anything else, voice gurgling weakly. “Please just kill m-” his voice was choked off as a fist snapped down sending his head ricocheting off the ground.

He huddled into a ball whimpering, and horror and hatred rose inside of Steve like living creatures that he could no longer control in any meaningful way. The snarl as he hurled his shield as hard as he could at the form of Ross standing above Bruce suprised even him.

Not as much as it surprised Ross. Steve caught it on instinct alone, watching as Ross fell in a heap and then started to get up. He didn’t get the chance. Steve put his body between Ross and Bruce, eyes bright with a mad fire, and for one of the few times in his life he wanted to see this man dead.

Ross laughed, and pulled a gun plugging four rounds point blank into Steve’s chest. His laughter died when Steve didn’t react to the shots, but slammed his fist into the General’s face. Ross’ nose exploded like an over ripe vegetable and he fell again, this time not trying to get back up, cradling his face in his hands as he crawled a few feet away feebly.

Behind him, Steve heard Bruce go quiet, and something inside of him snapped. He dropped the shield, and it stuck in the wet dirt standing upright. Ross’ blood was dripping off of one fist, and behind him Bruce was dead.

Rage like he’d never really felt before bloomed, and slowly he followed Ross. With one boot he kicked the man until he was lying on his back. Steve put a boot to his throat and looked down at him strangely.

Hatred had always seemed a foreign concept to him. Something that didn’t quite fit with the way that he viewed the world. Something reserved for the monsters who he stood up to, but not something he felt towards them. He had fought in the war to protect, and he had run after Bruce out of love.

But with his boot on Ross’ neck and Bruce’s corpse bloodied behind him, it was hatred and malice that made him press down. “I should beat you to death.” Steve heard his own words, and couldn’t fathom how he had gotten to this place. “Slowly. So you can understand. You don’t deserve a clean death.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But I don’t have the time.”

With a sharp jerk of his boot, Steve Rogers snapped General Thaddeus Ross’ neck in the jungle of India. The world felt like it was sliding sideways, and Steve knew that he was finally losing his grip because honestly, how much was one person supposed to be able to take anyway?

Then he heard the rattling breath from behind him and Steve scrambled back towards Bruce. He was a mess of blood, and broken bones, and flayed skin that had already started to put itself back together.

“Bruce babe?” Steve’s voice was so quiet, and when he heard a gasping wheeze that might have almost been words he did what he’d wanted to do from the start. Grabbed his bag from the corner where he’d dropped it, and replaced his shield with a gigantic blanket.

He strapped on the bag, gently wrapped Bruce into it’s folds being careful not to touch his blood. “Tony, I need pickup and I need this place wiped off the face of the Earth. We’re comin’ home.”

//

Steve watched as Bruce slept, the last of his visible injuries finally faded away, even if they had had to reset his leg in the field. He’d passed out at that point, and not woken back up. It’d been nearly two days, and he’d refused to leave his side.

If Bruce was still in there, there was no way in Hell he was going to wake up without Steve being right there with him. He couldn’t help the fear though. Tony had run a screen and found a hideous amount of drugs in his system.

A cocktail to suppress the Hulk, but Ross had gotten to him before he’d managed to finish the job. He hadn’t started to heal until they’d given him drugs to try and counteract what he’d done, and Steve felt sick to his stomach.

There was no knowing whether the damage done was reversible or not really. It was all a shot in the dark, and hoping for the best. After eighteen months of chasing after Bruce, the thought that he’d gotten there just minutes too late was almost too much to take.

As though Steve’s thoughts were an alarm, Bruce started coughing and slowly started to wake. From his chair Steve leaned back, still next to him, but not so close he’d startle the other man. Bruce’s eyes opened slowly, his face pained as he groped blindly for his glasses.

Silently Steve moved them closer and watched as those golden brown eyes focused behind the glass, and took in the room. “Wha..” He rasped out, voice dry. Steve poured a cup of water and handed it to him, letting Bruce take a few sips of the cool water.

“You’re back in Stark Tower. I...found you in India.” Steve’s voice was quiet.

“I can’t be he-”

“Ross is dead. The entire area was scrubbed.”

“He’s-”

“Dead.”

Steve watched the emotions play over Bruce’s face, thankful for the training that let him keep a placid expression even though everything inside of him was swirling madly.

“Steve, please tell me you didn’t that this wasn’t my-” Bruce’s words jumbled out of him and Steve cocked his head.

“I killed him.” He narrowed his eyes. “I killed him because he nearly beat you to death when I found the two of you. I killed him because I am a soldier, and he was a dangerous meglomaniac.” He shook his head. “To be honest he probably won’t be the last one either.”
“I was so close…” Bruce’s voice was nearly a whisper and he flinched as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Steve flinched too, and all the color drained out of his face. “And I was nearly too late to save you.” He gritted his teeth still angry, and hollow, and so very afraid of what came next. That even after all of this he would still lose Bruce.

“I know you think you’ll ruin me somehow.” Steve said shaking his head. “But Bruce babe, the only thing that ruined me was nearly losing you.” His voice was raw, and Steve felt tears pooling in his eyes against his will. “Please, please don’t do me in like that.”

“Oh he isn’t even the one you need to explain to.” Jenny’s voice rang out clearly from the doorway. She smiled beautifically and looked at her cousin. “I swear to God Bruce. Don’t you dare scare me like that again.” She took the chair on the other side of the bed, and reached for Bruce’s hand.

“I had my reasons.”

“Yeah well they’re dead now.” Jenny’s voice had an air of finality to it. “And as far as anyone knows, it was a botched raid on a terrorist camp.”

Bruce opened his mouth and then shut it looking at Bruce sorrowfully, before looking over to Jenny. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. But you’re gonna owe me a lot of really tasty dinner dates because I have grey hair now and I’ve decided it’s your fault.” She raised her eyesbrows and gave Steve a measuring look. “But you need to talk to Steve...I’ll tell Tony you’ve woken up and keep him from barging in.”

She closed the door behind her on the way out leaving Steve and Bruce alone for the first time in a year and a half. “You know I love you..” Bruce started.

“Please just come home with me?” Steve laughed. “By which I mean the floor Tony gave me while you were on the run.”

“You can’t want that, after what I did, what I tried to do.”

“Do not even try that with me Bruce Banner. Don’t you dare.”

“Steve…”

“Here’s what I know. I love you, and I have chased you to the ends of the Earth, and if I have to I’ll do it again. Like I told Joe, I’m never gonna stop chasing you.”
“I’ll ruin you.”

“Don’t you think I get to make that decision for myself?” Steve shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment trying to gather his thoughts. “I love you. I know you love me. Just, come home.”

Bruce swallowed thickly and nodded. “Of course.” Steve knew he meant it, and the feel of their hands as Bruce reached out warmed something inside of him that had been cold for too long. He knew this was a fragile peace, but for now, if it meant he had Bruce in his arms, he’d take it.