Chapter Text
Safehouse in Prague.
2016
Steve Rogers winced as the antiseptic hit his blistered knuckles. The pain was okay though. Pain grounded him from his thoughts. Although he hadn’t toted the suit in public since Siberia, taking off his insatiable need for justice was much harder. And when he had seen that little girl being dragged by a man behind that alleyway in Prague, it was far too much for Captain America to look away. He could only hope the man was too bloodied to remember and the girl was too scared to wonder why her savior didn’t look her in the eye.
He flexed his fingers, seeing the effects of his serum already at work. His hand would be fine by the morning. Steve, however, had to find a new place to hide out. He sighed and ran a hand through his messy hair, and down his recently grown beard. At some point, when his razor blade had grown dull, he realized he didn’t really care to replace it. There were bigger things to worry about. He could almost hear the teasing that would come out of Natasha’s mouth if she could see him now. Thoughts of her were almost enough to coax his lips into a small smile. But only almost, because for him, it always hit like a one-two-three punch. Fondly, Natasha. Then guiltily, Natasha is gone, and on the run, because of me. And then crushingly, the Avengers are broken, because of me.
Because although Steve’s incredible sense of justice guided his every move, logic did not. To him, he had failed. Steve knew the breakup hadn't been his alone. Tony had his share. So had Ross. So had Zemo. But knowing that didn't make failure feel any lighter. Somewhere along the way, he'd failed to keep his family together.
Maybe, if they had had more time, if Peggy hadn’t died, if Wanda hadn’t blamed herself for Lagos, if Bucky hadn’t been framed, if Tony wasn’t such an asshole, if–
His thoughts were interrupted by a change in the background. The small tv in the corner of his shitty hotel room had switched from local news to rolling footage of an incident in the country of Budapest. Steve frantically searched for the remote to raise the volume, simultaneously cursing himself for not understanding more Czech. But something he had recognized.
He nearly dropped the remote when the headline rolled. Because there, at the bottom of the screen, was a name.
Policie se domnívá, že žena prchající z místa činu je bývalá členka Avengers Natasha Romanoffová.
What are you up to, Nat?
Aerial footage showed several damaged buildings, cars, and injured pedestrians. And then, shaky bystander recordings of a redhead fleeing some kind of tank on a motorbike. Only, she wasn’t alone. A young blonde woman was with her. Steve furrowed his brows, wracking his brain for who it could be. Maybe an old contact? She was always so secretive with her past. Even when her S.H.I.E.L.D records had been released to the public two years prior, he had no interest in finding out about her on the internet. He much preferred the slivers of Natasha, his friend, to be revealed personally to him over any file on Black Widow, the avenger.
Steve sat there, watching any coverage of the incident he could find, until the news turned local and lost his interest. He hoped she was alright, whatever she was up to. He knew she didn’t need his help. She never really had. He found himself packing up his belongings anyways.
And so, his next destination was decided.
Budapest.