Chapter Text
During, it was all a blur.
Saying he scarcely remembers it is a lie, because he has eidetic memory – and even if he hadn’t, nightmares would always be there to gladly remind him of all the terrible things he wishes he could forget. The mind works in tricky ways. It has its own set of rules that he never understood, never felt like it was necessary, just troublesome details that get in the way in the most inopportune moments.
He is not heartless, not at all. Nor he is saying that emotions and fragile thoughts are useless.
But when there’s a mission to complete, he has to be a soldier. He barely has time to be anything else.
It doesn’t bother him. Not because it was something carved into him when he finally joined the army, because it really wasn’t – he was always like this. Focused, driven, to the point of being stubborn to a fault; making himself tall in all the ways his body wouldn’t allow him, refusing to be shoved over and ridiculed by something so fickle as appearance when his heart had so much more to offer.
It's just that he understands that sometimes, the mission takes precedence. Sometimes, above everything else. It’s how it always has been.
He feels like he was a soldier for much longer than his records say; After all, being a soldier is not something that just stops when you quit the army. As it turns out, it doesn’t even begin in the army. It just sneaks up on you. And once it does, once it latches, it doesn’t simply leave you like that.
Sometimes, he wishes it did. Wishes for it so fiercely he wonders if he’s actually begging.
But then, he asks himself who would he be, if he had never been at war.
War is all he knows, sometimes.
He knows it well, intimately, as one would know a lover or a friend; and he knows better than to underestimate it or believe too much in it. Even when you win, every casualty feels like a loss. When you lose, knowing you fought for something you thought was right won’t be enough to wash away the bitterness in your mouth. Winning or losing seems very different, but in many ways it’s not, and he thought he knew that. He thought he knew war was useless.
And yet he keeps doing it. He does it again and again, because it’s his job, because it’s in his blood, and no matter how many times he loses, he keeps coming back, almost as if he is addicted. He doesn’t know why. He feels obligated, but he doesn’t-- he feels like it’s right, but it isn’t.
He can’t stop. He acts anyway, and fights and fights and fights, even though he can’t see past the blur most of the time.
He fought blindly, and he knew.
He shouldn’t be surprised that when the blurriness starts to fade, the destruction they left behind them becomes crystal clear.
Their first stop after they leave the United States is Wakanda.
He doesn’t have much time to appreciate it, no, because his mind and his highly alert and paranoid instincts won’t let him. He wraps Bucky’s arm around his shoulders and carries most of his weight all journey, extremely conscious of his presence, his weight, his breathing pattern. It’s ragged, painful, but its there, it’s right there, and no matter how many times Steve keeps looking over his shoulder to check for enemies, a fraction on his attention is always on Bucky, unwilling to let go, as if he would disappear if Steve wasn’t keeping an eye on him.
There’s very little of him that’s not focusing completely on Bucky or his surroundings. So he must admit, the beauty that is Wakanda almost slips him by.
Almost. But it’s hard not to notice beauty in a safe place. No matter what place is that.
T’Challa is an honorable man, much more than Steve is - he is young, but his nobility shows through all his mannerisms and actions, the confidence and serenity of a mind that is much older than the body, much wiser, much more.
A spirit that is quiet, but never still; driven, but peaceful.
Steve never knew T’Challa’s father, and to be honest, he couldn’t say he knew much about Wakanda either; but he held King T’Challa in very high regard, especially after his decision of helping Bucky. He saw what Zemo did. He knew Bucky was innocent. And he didn’t allow his desire for revenge drive him to a reckless decision, and Steve could not be more thankful for it.
But he wonders.
Did he see? Did he see—
No. Not right now. Later. Safety first. That’s all that matters now.
He will think about Tony later. He had the suit. He had FRIDAY. He would be fine. Steve couldn’t stay, he had to protect Bucky, had to get him away from Tony, he’ll fix this later. He’ll find a way. But first, he has a mission, and he will complete it before anything else – he owes Bucky that.
Steve follows T’Challa closely, unable to keep his uneasiness at bay, even when they arrive at the marvelous country T’Challa calls home. There is a group of sharply dressed and heavily armed women waiting for them when they do, and T’Challa introduces them as the Dora Milaje, the royal guard, and the way they greet the man exudes respect and admiration, almost tangible in the air, unwavering trust and loyalty.
Deep in his heart, Steve feels a little knot of uneasiness unclench, relieved for Wakanda even though he has no reason to, glad that a man as just as T’Challa was the one responsible for its safety.
Steve doesn’t have a home now. The nation he spent all his life protecting was now hunting him, treating him like a criminal, and he would take a little peace anywhere he could find it, even if this nation would never be his home either.
T’Challa is very graceful about the whole thing. He brings them to meet his mother, Queen Ramonda, and his lovely sister, Shuri. Incredible women, both of them. Women who remind him of Peggy, and make his chest ache in the most bittersweet way it can. He almost forces out a smile for them. But his face feels cold and hard like stone, like his muscles, tight with residual adrenaline, and he can only stare back at them, trying to be as respectful as he can while doing so.
Queen Ramonda does squint a little when T’Challa tells her of the circumstances that brought them here, but she clearly trusts her son very much, and doesn’t raise an objection even when T’Challa informs they are fugitives.
Shuri, however, reacts a little bit differently.
“I can help you.” She says to Bucky, excitedly, but in a very soft way. As if she was talking to a puppy, really. “With your arm, and with your mind.”
“I don’t want to impose.” Bucky grumbles, not shy, but resistant.
“You have no reason to fear, James Barnes.” T’Challa assures him. “There are no enemies here. I can promise you that. I apologize for the mistake I made against you, and as a way of fixing that mistake, I hope you can allow us to help you in whatever way you need.”
Bucky still hesitates.
But only for a second.
He nods, and Shuri reacts like she’s just been given an early Christmas present—and starts going on and on about treatment and prosthetics, in very specific jargon that Steve can’t even hope to comprehend, but it doesn’t bother him. It’s not the first time he’s seen a genius go crazy with wonder of the possibilities.
Steve had hoped one day, Tony would help him help Bucky. But that’s not going to happen anymore.
But princess Shuri is here. She can help.
And Steve is glad Bucky is getting help. He just wishes taking his arm off his shoulders and letting him leave didn’t feel like losing him all over again, every single time, and he doesn’t know what he can do to make it stop.
Queen Ramonda watches Bucky and Shuri leave with an unreadable expression.
Then, she moves her gaze back to Steve. Unwavering. Scrutinizing.
Steve very carefully keeps his face a blank mask, swallowing his feelings down, raising his walls like a fortress around his heart.
The very next day, Bucky says something that almost destroys Steve.
“I want to go back under.” He confesses. “Until it’s safe.”
Steve tries to convince him not to.
He’s not dangerous. He’s safe here. There’s no need. Steve will be there for him.
Bucky only gives him a weak smile, a smile that is almost a grimace, and says he can’t.
He goes back under.
And Steve feels like a failure, deep inside, never being able to protect his best friend, even now. Even after everything he’s done. Everything he’s sacrificed.
It’s useless. He is always losing.
“You are welcome to stay if you like, Captain.” T’Challa offers him, his tone incredibly gentle, but in a way that makes Steve feel respected, not coddled. He feels like T’Challa is giving him an opening he doesn’t usually offers people, and Steve appreciates the king’s help. It certainly is very noble of him. “We will be completely responsible for James Barnes’ security and health, as I promised. There is no need for you to worry.”
“I’m not worried.” Steve says, but it’s not true. It feels like a lie in his tongue, heavy and bitter, and he knows that if T’Challa can see through him, it is only because he is too close to the situation and knows better than to undermine the consequences of all his actions from now on. Anyone else would’ve never caught his lie. He’s gotten too good at it through the years, too good at pushing through barriers of pleasantry and bureaucracy to find himself an opening to act.
He hates that he had to. He shouldn’t have to lie to do what’s right.
T’Challa considers him with a look that takes almost a second too long to be casual.
Steve knows he is being analyzed, but he doesn’t cower under the king’s careful gaze. Steve did not flinch under Queen Ramonda’s silent judgment, he won’t back down for T’Challa either, even if the man is a king. He can think whatever he likes.
You tell the world: No, you move.
“But will you stay?” T’Challa asks finally.
“I have to do something first.” He says, only half deflecting the question. “Sam and the others are still on the Raft. Tony hasn’t let them out. I have to get them out of there, or else Ross will take the chance and do something terrible to them. Especially to Wanda.”
“Hm.” T’Challa hums, and now his tone is not as disinterested. Steve still can’t place it, but there is a definite note of emotion and curiosity to his words when he says: “And you don’t trust Tony Stark to get them out of there.”
“Tony won’t go against the Accords.” Steve says, emphatically.
“Not even to help his friends?”
“I can’t sit still and hope for the best.” Steve half-growls, feeling the clenching of his jaw so strongly it almost hurts at his temples, strength like steel under his bones and white-hot fury between the tendons of his fists. “They don’t deserve it. I have to get them out.”
T’Challa takes a very careful breath, turning his gaze towards the horizon, frowning lightly. Steve feels like T’Challa didn’t quite expect that answer, because something between them turns a little somber all of a sudden. Steve, half out of respect, half out of uneasiness, also turns his gaze to a distant point through the window.
“I won’t be able to help you in this mission, Captain. It is beyond my resources, and my morals, to do such a thing.” T’Challa says after a while, almost regretfully.
“I wouldn’t ask you to help me with this.” Steve replies, decidedly.
He doesn’t need the king’s help. He can get into the Raft alone if he has to. It’s dangerous, he knows it, and T’Challa would suffer the consequences more than anyone else, if the mission failed.
Steve will do it alone, it’s fine. He can do it.
T’Challa nods at him, a very short movement Steve only catches at the periphery of his sight.
“Then I wish you a safe journey, Captain.” The king says, simply. “And we will give you a safe place to return to, if you so decide.”
Steve nods, feeling thankful, but not relieved. Feeling better, but not happy.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” He says, equally professional. There isn’t much feeling in his words, but then again, he’s not really feeling much at this moment. His thoughts are elsewhere. His adrenaline is picking up at the thought of the next step, the next mission, going forward, always going forward. “It’s very kind of you.”
But he gives no answer. Not really.
Steve has gotten really good at that.
Before he goes, he checks on Bucky one last time.
He does that a lot. After all, not like he can do much else.
He doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching a motionless Bucky—his best friend, once more silent, once more frozen, and it kills him inside to see him like that. He doesn’t deserve it. No one deserves it. It shouldn’t be like this.
Bucky is a good man. A good man who’s been dealt the worst hand possible. Seeing him there, in ice, is giving Steve the worst kind of feelings, a weird type of anxiety, far too close to a flashback for him to be comfortable with it. He can remember the way the cold can reach your bones, like it’s growing from the inside, freezing everything but your mind. The body, completely still, the mind, running mad with despair and grief. He wants to believe Bucky will be safe, he will be fine, but Steve can’t trust ice. He probably never will.
He would take Bucky’s place if he could. Steve would’ve taken another seventy years frozen if it meant Bucky didn’t have to be in there.
“He will be alright.” Princess Shuri smiles out of the corner of her mouth, trying to give him a little sense of security.
“I know.” Because he does. Bucky is the strongest person he knows, and Shuri is a genius. She’ll find a way to help him. But it’s not trust. He doesn’t know what it is, but it’s not trust. “I just wish it wasn’t necessary.”
Shuri hums—the same way T’Challa does. A quiet, thoughtful thing, that sounds so loaded in such a short breath that it never fails to make him feel analyzed. He wonders if she picked this up from T’Challa, or if they both got it from Queen Ramonda herself. Seems like the most probable option.
Princess Shuri takes a deep breath, so carefully it almost doesn’t make a sound, and starts: “I don’t—” then she stops. Tries again. “You won’t like what I have to say, but I will say it anyway.”
Steve turns to her, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly, silently urging her to continue.
“I don’t think you should be here when he wakes up.”
For a second, he thinks he heard that wrong. But he knows he didn’t. And immediately he feels his defenses rising, arming his feelings like a tank, ready for a fight. “I’m sorry?”
“He is going to be fragile.” Shuri says, as a matter of fact. Like this is all a mere scientific truth, not his unconscious best friend in an ice chamber. “I can remove all traces of the brainwashing he received, but it won’t be enough. He is in pain. He has felt nothing but fear and anger for years, and now he finally can feel other things, the emotion he will feel the most is guilt. And having you around isn’t good for him.”
“He’s my best friend. I won’t leave him.” Steve says in a tight voice, reminding himself the person in front of him not only is just a child, she is also Wakanda royalty. He shouldn’t antagonize her. Even though something inside him desperately wants to.
“He was your best friend.” Shuri counters. “Are you the same person you were seventy years ago, Captain? Are you even the same person you were before you became a fugitive?”
Steve opens his mouth to reply – probably much snappier than he should – but Shuri places down the prototypes she’d been working on atop the worktable with a little too much noise to be an accident. She gets up, decidedly, and walks closer to Bucky, and Steve feels the hairs at the back of his neck bristle a little with her move, a deep-seated instinct to protect Bucky even though there is no danger in sight.
Shuri turns back around to him, standing in front of the chamber, checking Bucky’s status and test results in a hologram projected out of the object around her wrist. “This man is not your best friend. You don’t know him, because he doesn’t know himself. He might come out of this chamber and you might find out you despise the person he became.”
“I would never hate him.” Steve denies firmly.
“You can’t know that.” Shuri argues back, a little exasperated, like she’s talking to a stubborn child. “And you are not being fair to him.”
Steve closes his mouth shut, his teeth clicking together in a painful way. Shuri keeps talking anyway.
“He needs time to heal. He needs to find out who he is without other people controlling his thoughts! And if you expect him to come out of this chamber only to act like your best friend from the forties, you are a fool. He might not like you now, have you thought of that?”
Something grips Steve’s heart in such a painful way he fears he might collapse at any second. He can feel his blood turning into lava, his heart rate picking up speed, spiraling out of control. He wants to argue back. It almost physically pains him to keep quiet, because this can’t be happening, she can’t really believe what she’s saying.
Shuri shuts down all projections with a sigh, taking a second to look at Bucky’s peaceful expression with a thoughtful look on her face, and when she looks back at Steve, her will is as strong as ever, unshakable and assured, and the very small part of him that can appreciate her bold nature is completely overshadowed by the sheer feeling of offence that floods him at the mere thought that Steve might hurt Bucky in any way.
He breathes deeply to keep himself controlled, and he knows he must look like an angry bull ready to attack, his chest pushed out in defiance, his expression hard. But Shuri is not intimidated. She is a princess. She is used to not being questioned.
Or maybe that’s because she is a genius. Could be either.
Steve hasn’t been good at following orders in a very long time – and he thinks about telling her just that, but they have Bucky, and Steve doesn’t trust. He simply doesn’t. He doesn’t think Shuri has any ill intentions, or that T’Challa might stab him in the back for no reason, but that’s exactly it. As long as they don’t have a reason. Everyone is always trying to look after themselves; but Steve is the one trying to look out for Bucky, and he won’t give them a reason to believe he’s not worthy of their help. Bucky needs this much more than him.
There is a long silence between them. Shuri watches without a word as Steve very visibly relaxes his shoulders, forcing himself to lose his defensive stance, purposefully giving him a few moments to calm down. When he does, she nods, as if they reached some sort of agreement Steve wasn’t even aware they were looking for, but he guesses that’s fine. He can compromise. For Bucky. Shuri is the one treating him so he might as well do as she says, just for now.
But apparently, she isn’t done. Something is weighting on her mind still.
“No matter what his choice is going to be, he needs to choose. And he needs to do it alone.” She says, a bit regretful, as if she is not very happy about this either. “Your presence makes him feel obligated to act like you expect him to. Because he owes you, not because that’s how he really feels.”
Steve feels that invisible hand squeezing his heart so tight it makes him nauseous. “He told you that?”
“He didn’t have to.”
Don’t try to guess what he feels. You don’t know him.
But Steve can’t antagonize her. She’s Bucky primary caretaker now. There’s nothing to gain from being rude to her. She thinks she knows what’s best, he knows it, but she’s young and probably a bit too idealistic, and Steve’s known Bucky his whole life. He can help Bucky.
But Shuri is in charge, here. This is her lab. Her resources. Her country. Steve can’t win this fight right now.
“I wouldn’t force him into anything.” Steve grumbles, just because he can’t stay quiet about this, his voice as sharp as steel.
“You think you wouldn’t.” Shuri replies, disbelieving. “But we all try to please people we respect. He will do the same. And to be very honest, pleasing you is not a priority right now. He needs to be himself before he is anything else. Even to you.”
Steve had come here to say he’ll be back soon. He will get everyone else out of the Raft, and he will be back, and when Bucky’s good, when he’s safe, they’ll go to somewhere else where they can keep low and help Bucky adjust to the future properly. They wouldn’t impose. Bucky wouldn’t want that. So Steve would be back, and as soon as he was, they would go, together, as he promised.
And now this.
You shouldn’t be here.
Steve won’t leave him. Not again.
It’s what’s best for him.
“I understand.” He says, completely emotionless, keeping the bitterness and the sharp tang of frustration hidden under so many layers of masks that he can almost believe he doesn’t actually hates this. But he does. “Thank you for taking care of him, princess.”
“You can trust us.” Shuri assures him; but he can see it in her eyes, she knows he won’t believe her. “He is safe here.”
But it’s hard for Steve to believe Bucky will be safe anywhere that’s not by his side right now.
It’s just hard to believe.
He leaves.
He loses. Always loses.
And it feels like every step he takes is a sharp knife through his heart.
The letter is spur-of-the-moment kind of thing.
It hadn’t even crossed his mind before, because all he could think of was how he could find a way to break into the Raft without getting caught and leaving with four other people right under Ross’ nose. His plan is half careful, but half mad, and the reason he gets back into the country and into the Raft without being spotted at all is due to his skills as much as it is to dumb luck. He’s always been a little reckless about things like this. When there’s a mission to complete and no one is doing anything, Steve just charges ahead, sometimes with only the barest of thoughts, just because he can’t stay still and let injustice rule.
So far, it hasn’t failed him. So he doesn’t see why he should stop.
But he is spotted. Just not by Ross’ people.
He is working on the security panel, frantically looking from screen to screen as he types in commands he can remember from previous experiences, guesses a few things here and there, just enough so he can access the cells without causing much more damage. He’s already rendered unconscious the four guards of this room. He would like to avoid any other unnecessary encounters, because this whole thing is already messy enough as it is.
He misses having his shield with him. It’s almost like being naked, going into a mission without it, and he grabbed one of the guard’s guns just for safety’s sake, even though he hates firearms with a passion. He keeps glancing at it from the corner of his eye, just by the keyboard he’s typing in, keeping all his senses alert to any indication someone is coming close to the control room. He knows there’s still a few guards walking around, patrolling the halls and the upper floors. If he’s spotted, Steve won’t ever be able to come out. He’ll be trapped here, just like the others.
That’s why he’s rushing. So much, actually, that even though the camera panels are right there and his serum-enhanced hearing is definitely working, someone does sneak up on him, and he startles so bad he almost breaks the keyboard.
“Hello, handsome.” A voice calls from behind him, and he reaches for a gun he stole from one of the guards in reflex, aiming for the chest and with his finger on the trigger. “Come here often?”
And then he sees her. And he relaxes.
And tenses again immediately.
“Natasha.” Steve breathes, shocked. He feels relief automatically, so intensely it’s not even comforting, more like a punch in the guts, making him sound a little winded. She very clearly finds that very amusing.
“Cap.” Natasha smirks, not with a lot of humor, but with a twinge of affection. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.” Steve says, completely serious. He doesn’t comment about her hair; it’s short again, but in a different style, and a totally different color. It’s the first time Steve has seen her as a brunette, it’s a bit off-putting. He wonders if it’s on purpose. With Natasha, every single detail feels deliberate.
He won’t ask. He’s not sure if he can. The last time he’d seen her, they fought without pulling punches, and parted ways unsure where their relationship stood. He doesn’t know if she’s here as a friend, or a foe. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping you.” She assures, pushing away from the wall and approaching him with steady steps, even though Steve is still holding the gun, just in case. “It’ll be much faster and much safer if you have help. The Raft’s security is not easy to override.”
She’s right. But because Steve is not one known for pulling punches, nor for being very sensible when he’s so high strung as he is right now – as he’s been the last few… years, really -, he blurts his next comment the same way he would blurt an insult, or an order, or both; accusing and unflinching, eyes sharp on every detail, every tell, an even though he merely speaks, the silence makes it seem like a shout:
“I thought you would be with Tony.”
Natasha pauses for a second, in front of the console. Then, she picks up the keyboard and starts typing, without turning around to look Steve in the eye.
“No.” she says, and her voice betrays nothing, but Steve knows now; that with Natasha, no reaction is a reaction in itself. She’s guarded. She’s wounded, somehow. “I can’t stay. It’s not safe. I’m a Russian spy, first and foremost, and I will always be. My position is very fragile even with Tony backing me up. It’s not really the time to take risky chances like that.”
“So you decided to help me invade the Raft? Nice definition of risky you have.” Steve jabs, trying to rile her up.
He doesn’t want her tense like that. Not if she really came to help. Steve will gladly have her by his side, always, because Natasha is a good friend, even after a tough fight – especially after a tough fight -, and he will take any sort of normalcy he can get. Natasha’s snarky humor. The team by his side. Bucky, whenever he can.
Natasha gives him a smirk, but it’s weak and demure, much more grief than amusement, but Steve will take it. She’s here. She wants to help. Steve would never push her away.
They nod at each other; an unspoken agreement, a truce, an apology, all at once, and Natasha goes back to work, typing away with total concentration, not even taking her eyes away from the screen as she does so.
He can imagine her doing so before – when they leaked SHIELD’s files to the world. He wasn’t there, but he imagines it. Natasha, completely in her element, as powerful as she is now, unflinching even though he is going straight for the enemies’ jugular, standing in its territory.
He missed having her on his side. On his team.
Despite all the reasons why he shouldn’t, he trusts her a lot.
“Why sign it, then?” he asks, because he has to. He has to know. He’s not even sad or irritated, he’s curious, because he knows Natasha always has more reasons and more arguments and more opinions than any of them can ever dream of guessing. There is always something hidden, in her. He wondered, during all of it, during all the fight, if she saw something he didn’t. Something that could’ve prevented this. “You could’ve helped us stop it. Tony would’ve listened to you.”
“Don’t.” Natasha stops typing, for a moment, to stare at him from behind her shoulder. “Not now, Cap.”
He wants to ask. He wants to press her for an answer.
But he won’t. He will trust her. They can talk about it later.
It’s probably too late for the Accords anyway. The damage’s been done.
“So you’re leaving? With us?” Steve asks instead, trying to make it sound a bit like a question, but also as an affirmative, and somehow, he messes it all up and it comes out sounding like a petulant inquiry.
Natasha inclines her head to the side, in a flippant gesture. “If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t.” he assures. “But what does that mean?”
“For who? For me?” she asks, and there’s actually a little bit of bitterness in her tone. “For you? For the Accords?”
For the Avengers?
“All of it.”
“It means we’re fugitives, Cap. That’s all. And lucky for you, I happen to be very good at hiding.”
And then she whispers. It’s quiet, almost inaudible, and it would’ve been for anyone else. But he hears it, and she knows. She sounds like she didn’t want to say it, but she had to, because she couldn’t help herself.
“I just hope Tony will be ok.”
And Steve can’t blame her. She wants reassurance.
He does too. How he wishes he could give her that. Give himself that.
He wishes he could believe it would get better. But he doesn’t know how.
“He’ll be fine.” Steve says, because he wants to believe it. Because he can’t think about this right now. Not while they’re here. “Tony is strong. He’ll hold himself steady.”
After all, he always has.
But Natasha sighs, soft and sad, and just as she types one last line and pushes a button, and the ways to the cells are all clear, she mumbles to herself:
“Yeah, I hope so.”
They get in. They open the cells. They get out.
Somewhere at the back of his head, Steve wonders how it could be so easy. He knows better than to underestimate Natasha and her incredible skills, but this is a facility built to keep even the most capable and strong locked up, and its systems shouldn’t be so quick to being brought down. He wonders, silently, if Natasha stole something that allowed easier access. Something of Tony’s. It sounds like something she would’ve done.
It leaves a bitter taste in his tongue, something sharp and coppery, thick and disgusting between his teeth. The memory of blood. His hands shake a little with a phantom sensation of his shield vibrating on impact, and he itches beneath his skin in a way he can’t quite stop.
It sounds so terrible; to break into a place that Tony helped fortify, using his own tech against him.
But it’s a prison. There’s no other choice. Tony shouldn’t have helped built this thing in the first place.
But he feels bad anyway. He never liked to steal. And Tony is not an enemy, despite all that happened, and destroying something he helped build feels particularly wrong, especially now. After Ultron. After cutting ties.
Steve has almost no regards for rules, despite what his Captain America persona might make people believe, because rules are restrictive, and Steve never liked to feel trapped. Even less now, after seventy years trapped inside an ice cage.
In fact, if Natasha wasn’t here, he wouldn’t even bother with it. He probably wouldn’t even think about it, because he knew he’d have no help and there would be no other way. He’d just swallow the bitterness down and do what he has to do, because it’s what’s right, and that was that.
But he did have help. He does. Natasha is here, and she wasn’t supposed to be, and he can’t help but think of what might have caused her to leave the compound, what happened between her and Tony, and if Tony knows they’re here. He most likely does. But there are no alarms blaring, no guards coming after them, so Steve doesn’t know what to think of it.
He wonders if this is the way Tony is trying to help them. By not acting against them.
Not acting counts as help? It didn’t before. Is this helping, or just ignoring?
Does he know? Does he care?
He probably does. He must. The Avengers are still his team, even when they’re apart.
But Steve can’t know for sure. He can never know.
The thought infests his mind the same way a damn parasite would, creeping up on him and slowly taking roots in the deep corners of his mind, making him paranoid. He feels restless. Like he’s being watched, but he can’t be sure if he really is – but what if he is, what does that mean? He wonders if Tony would reach out for them first, but it doesn’t seem likely. Tony is a very proud man. And he must be hurt, Steve knows this, because they all are, and Tony would never willingly show weakness. Not to Steve, or any of them.
But Steve is stubborn. So damn stubborn. He has too many mixed feelings about Tony, about his team breaking apart, and having all of them here except Tony is making him feel extremely uncomfortable, because that’s not how it should be.
He has to do something. Not acting is not helping.
He thinks about it all the way to the cells. Sam grins at him mischievously when he spots him, and Steve is so glad to see them all, to see them mostly unharmed, even though seeing Wanda restrained makes his gut tighten with barely contained fury, indignant and disgusted, his hands aching with an animalistic desire to make Ross pay for such cruelty against a kid.
But the Raft can’t hold him back now. Steve opens the cells and their reunion feels like coming home, feels right, feels just. It feels like he’s finally doing something good.
And still, the whispers won’t stop.
Does he know? Does he care?
They’re already leaving when the idea occurs to him. It’s barely a full thought and he’s blurting it out, careless in a way he hasn’t felt in a very long time, and he interrupts right when Clint and Natasha are done hugging it out – as Clint calls it, while he squeezes a barely-reciprocating Natasha in his arms – with a hand carefully placed of her shoulder, and his face composed in a very careful blank mask.
“Natasha” Steve calls, urgently, pulling her away from Clint, and Natasha interprets his tense shoulders and whispering voice as a sign of imminent threat, because she goes stiff immediately, her hand flying to her knives.
Steve recoils back a bit, but not enough to be perceptible. He then softens his voice, for some reason feeling like what he’s about to say has to be whispered. “It’s ok, we haven’t been spotted.” He assures her, but immediately follows with: “I need you to do me a favor”
“Now?”
“I need to get something to Tony.”
She frowns in a way that speaks volumes. Steve knows she’s too tense to react as he expects her to, because that’s what Natasha does, she gets stone cold calm when she’s pressured, but he also knows that if they were anywhere else right now, what she would’ve said was why the hell would you do that, Steve?
Why reach for Tony now? Isn’t it too late?
No. It can’t be.
He should at least say something, right? He can’t go off like this, without a word, like there was nothing wrong.
A last message, at least. Just so Tony knows there’s no hard feelings.
He knows things are bad, he knows Tony’s hurt, he’s alone, but—but Steve doesn’t want him to feel bad. He knows Tony reacted on instinct. Hell, he did too. They were angry, they were being pressured by all sides, they had no time to think of a way out. It was all… It was a mess. They fought, they hurt each other, they separated; but they’re not broken. Steve doesn’t think they are. And he shouldn’t let Tony think they are.
One day, they can fix this. They can deal with it. It’ll blow over – and Bucky will be safe, Wanda will be safe, they’ll be free, and then they’ll fix it. It’s not the end of the world. They can save the Avengers, after they both heal.
So he improvises while they’re leaving, sneaking out of the city towards the Quinjet, and trusts Natasha to deliver the message before they leave America definitely.
A letter and a burner phone.
God.
Why did he think that would be enough?
During the first month, Steve anxiously took the phone with him everywhere, sometimes taking is out of his pocket to rub his thumb over the sides, tapping distractedly at the back, wondering if Tony had already received the package. He knew he could trust Natasha to bring the package inside, but actually delivering was another matter altogether, and no matter what year was it, 1945 or 2015, mail delivery was never too trustworthy. So he waited. Waited for like what he felt was a reasonable amount of time for package to arrive at the Tower, for Tony to read the letter and think about it a little, and then call Steve back.
But then, a month became two.
Then three.
By the fourth month, Steve could feel the way his jaw hurt whenever he looked at the phone, an almost imperceptive grinding of his teeth, the feeling of something dark and ugly growing deep in his guts, something that made him feel angry. He feels disappointment and frustration and impatience, bubbling like lava inside a waking volcano, but he keeps silent; he glares at the wall and huffs, but he won’t throw a tantrum like a child, because it would be ridiculous.
He’s thinking it through, he tells himself. Be patient.
“He won’t call.” Natasha whispered, startling him a little bit, but not enough to make him jump. He knew she was there. He has heard her come in almost half an hour ago, but she hadn’t said anything, just stood there leaning against the door, and Steve let her, keeping his head down and frown hidden even though he’s sure Natasha can read him like a children’s book just by his posture.
Steve raises his eyes, but otherwise doesn’t move; and Natasha is not even looking up at him from the spot she was staring on the floor.
“You know that, right?” she asks, a little sad. Resigned.
“I reached out the best that I could.” Steve argues and-- that tastes really bitter in his tongue. It’s a surprise he can sound so calm. “I can only hope he’ll reach us back, if he needs us.”
“He might need us someday, but he still won’t do it.” Natasha purses her lips, raising her gaze to his. “It’s not like him.”
“There are things even Tony can’t take on alone.”
“He will try anyway. Did you know that while we were away…” while we were chasing the Winter Soldier, chasing Bucky, is what she doesn’t say, but Steve hears the words in her pause anyway. “Tony chased down the Mandarin alone?”
“Yeah.” Steve murmurs, displeased. “I saw it in the news, after we came back.”
“He’ll do it again if he has to. We’re not there anymore. We’re not Avengers, here. If the Avengers are ever needed now, he’ll go anyway, with or without us. Because that’s what he does, because he doesn’t know how to stop. He fights, even when he’s in disadvantage.”
“If he can.” Steve says, a bit sarcastically, unable to stop himself. “If the Accords let him help at all.”
Natasha finally glances at him, her stare sharp as her knives, practically dissecting him right where he stands. “That’s what you’re waiting for? For him to call and ask you for us to fight in his place?”
Yes.
(He hears an echo of his own voice, amplified in anguished silence, against bare and cold walls.)
Yes.
“We could help, if he needed us to.”
“We could.” Natasha concedes. “But that’s not really the point, is it?”
Irritated – with Natasha, with the silence, with the phone, with Tony, so many things beyond his control he can’t quite accept and let go of -, he asks, his tone dry and snappish. “Why not?”
“Because if he decides he doesn’t need us, it doesn’t matter. He still won’t call.”
But Natasha’s wrong.
Of course Tony would need them. They were the Avengers. The world needed them. While they were divided, the world would never be safe.
Be patient.
The wounds were still fresh. It’s ok.
Soon, everyone will realize they can’t keep the Avengers shackled. They can’t hold them back with stacks of paper. When they are needed, when the world needs them to be there, they will be, and this fight can come to an end.
All he has to do is wait.
Not even silence lasts forever.
Three weeks later, right after they moved from Iran to Libya, Natasha gives him the news.
“There was an attack in Argentina today.” It’s what she says, curt and professional, as if she’s giving him a report. She stares at him right in the eye, wearing her cold expression like an armor, daring him to say something. Daring him to protest. Daring him to contradict her once again. “A few casualties. Argentina took a little time to allow the Avengers entrance in the country, but it went well. Minimal property damage, even.”
Her lips give only the smallest of twitches, but there’s so much emotion in the movement he can’t look away.
“He’s back on the field, Steve. I told you.”
And that’s when Steve starts to worry.
The phone never made a sound.
He keeps waiting. What else can he do between missions? On the run?
Time was always getting the best of him. First, he lost it, and was thrown into a world where everything happened so fast he couldn’t keep up, couldn’t rest, couldn’t trust. Seventy years passed him by and he didn’t even know, leaving and being left, and there was no way of getting anything back. That’s the worst part. That no matter what he does, how hard he tries, how many rules he breaks, the clock just doesn’t turn back. This is it. He lost those years. That’s all there is to it.
But now, he’s watching himself lose. He’s being an active participant on it. Every second he has to sit still and wait is torture, every ticking of the clock like the pressing beeping of a bomb, slowly making its way to detonation – but it never does, so its just tick, tick, tick. Time is slipping by, Steve. What will you do?
It never rings.
He waits and he waits. That’s all he can do.
And in the end, it’s the irony of his situation, the damn title of king of waiting too long he seems desperate to uphold despite himself, that pisses him off the most.
When they hit the seven-month mark on the run, Natasha brings them all very alarming news.
They are hiding in Cambodia this time around. It’s getting harder and harder to move with the entire group, they are too many and not inconspicuous at all, not when their faces are known by the entire world. It’s their last night together, they decided – Wanda and Clint will go a bit farther without them, and Scott is still thinking about what he’ll do, and he only has a few hours left to decide. They leave as soon as the sun rises.
This weird goodbye reunion they’re having in the hotel room is the reason why Natasha marches in and finds them all in the same spot, her steps heavy and hard with an intense emotion exuding from her entire posture, as if she’s vibrating out of her bones.
She sweeps her gaze through all of their faces, but when her eyes land on Steve, her words are clipped and tense, heavy with unhappiness.
“Tony sold the tower.”
They all stop in their places, collectively shocked.
“What?” Clint asks, flabbergasted.
“I was just informed. He is moving all Avengers business to the compound, and removing all Stark Industries property from the building, moving it to another location. Across the country, apparently.”
“Why would he do that?” Scott frowns confusedly.
“He’s separating SI from the Avengers. Now the Avengers are run by the United Nations, he can’t have a private property running in the same location. It seems like he was organizing this for a very long time, the announcement was made yesterday morning but the equipment is almost all ready to be shipped out. By the end of the month, the Tower will be empty.”
Something painful grips his stomach tight in his belly.
Sam, standing directly behind Steve, is the one who asks the question Steve can’t find in himself the strength to utter:
“Where the hell will he live? The tower was his home.”
His home. Our home, once.
It hurts, like a knife going straight through his heart, lurching like the ground is suddenly giving away beneath his feet.
Losing home. Losing time.
Why would Tony do this? Is this—is this his way of telling them it’s over? That they have no home back there now? That he won’t have them back if they try to repair things? It’s not fair. They haven’t done anything wrong. They hadn’t left by choice, they were pressured by the Accords, and they all did what they thought was right at that moment. They can’t be blamed for that.
Does he know? Does he care?
He does. Steve knows he does, even though he feels like sometimes he has to remind himself of that fact. He does. Steve has a tactical mind, but very small tact with feelings, and even he could see the little things Tony did for them through the years. He gave Bruce a lab. He gave Natasha protection. He gave Clint weapons. He gave them all a home.
But he’s taking it all back. No, he’s letting the Accords take it all from him. He’s ceasing control, and it’s ridiculous, because Tony is the most controlling person Steve has ever met. That damn futurist mind of his, going through every scenario and trying to prevent all the bad ones from happening all at once, how can he let this kind of thing happen? First Ultron, now this?
They’re trying to keep them out. And Tony is letting them, letting them isolate him, letting himself be isolated by not calling Steve.
It infuriates him in a way he can barely contain.
He feels wrong. He feels heavy, and hot, and too much. The urge to take the phone out of his pocket and call is almost overwhelming, but he won’t do it in front of everyone else, he can’t afford to show that kind of unrestraint in front of his team. They are all sneaking glances at him, unsure. Waiting for his reaction. Waiting for his plan.
“It’s not sure yet where he’ll stay. War Machine and Vision are still on the compound, and I’d guess that very soon Spider-Man will be too. Tony might recruit him officially now SI and the Avengers are separate.”
“He can do that?” Wanda asks, arching her eyebrows.
“With the approval of the board. UN is the one who decides who has access to the compound. If he’s approved, he’s in.”
But they hadn’t, so they can’t.
Now there’s no Tower. There’s no second plan.
(Locks can be replaced, but maybe they shouldn’t.)
(Is that it? Is this his answer?)
But he is. He is replacing them. He’s removing himself from the conflict, guarding his own, burning bridges for the sake of diplomacy and bureaucracy. There is no back door now. There is the compound, the UN, the duty, and there’s only one way in.
For all the conflict they had over the years, Tony has never felt so distant from them before.
They barely sleep, all for different reasons. Steve knows, but he doesn’t ask.
In the morning, they separate. Not too much, but enough to be noticeable. Enough to disturb the weak, fragile balance they had kept during the previous months.
The silence grows.
And that’s when it starts to happen.