Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Steve supposes he should have expected this to happen eventually.

Things had been going well actually. Tony had just recently gotten all the legal paperwork wrangled to finally showcase the BARF tech, and had started working on marketing it as a therapy tool. As an added bonus, he and Pepper had been able to launch their Inaugural September Foundation Grant for the students at MIT.

But at the same time that Tony had been celebrating that win, the rest of the Avengers had been dealing with a loss.

It was supposed to have been a simple mission, Tony hadn’t even come because they hadn’t been certain they weren’t chasing a dead end. They had gotten intel that Rumlow might be staging something in Nigeria and they had flown over to follow it up.

Out of all the remaining heads of Hydra, Rumlow had proven to be one of the hardest ones to pin down, so… Steve probably should have known that the brawl in the street had only been a distraction.

It had all been a trap. For what, he isn’t sure, but he can still see the smug look on Rumlow’s burned face as he had slipped away, a cruel laugh on his lips as the top of the skyscraper next to him had exploded into fire.

The destruction had been seemingly senseless. Rumlow hadn’t even used it as anything else but as a cover to get away with. He hadn't even tried to infiltrate the Institute for Infectious Disease, like they had first thought he would. Which is a good thing, of course, but the skyscraper is now in ruins, and the Avengers hadn’t been able to stop it, and now over a dozen people are dead.

The mood is subdued as they return to the compound, and Steve peels off without a word to his room. He can hear the others murmur a few words behind him as he leaves, but he is too drained to pay attention, and the smell of ash and burned flesh in his nose pushes him faster down the hall to his door. They had done their best to help with the clean up, but now his suit smells like soot and death and he needs to get out of it right now.

He gets to his bathroom and strips down, very carefully not thinking about how Hydra had used flamethrowers in the war, and how the smell of it is exactly the same. Instead he shoves his suit down the laundry shoot and turns to the shower with a single-minded focus, turning on the water and testing it once before getting in.  

There are mild burns on his hands, and his gloves are melted to ruin, but his hands will heal soon enough, and Tony will have him a new pair of gloves by tomorrow, so he ignores both of those problems for now.

Of course, new gloves will mean that he will have to talk to Tony about the disaster of a mission. He is certain that by now the man has heard about the fiasco and is probably on his way back to the compound, but he knows that the upcoming conversation will not be fun.

Under the spray of the shower, he closes his eyes for a moment and breathes in, trying to loosen some of the tightness that has settled in his chest. Missions-gone-wrong are always hard for him, and no matter how many times he talks them over with Jason, it is still hard for him to use his coping mechanisms properly afterwards.

Which might be why he turns on the news after his shower. He is in clean, soft clothes now, that don’t have a hint of smoke in them, and he’d even gotten himself food and water to refuel with, but he still turns on the TV.

He can’t help it. The mission had gone wrong, and he needs to know the fallout. As team-leader, he will have to deal with it eventually, so he might as well know what the world is saying about their recent failure.

It isn’t good.

It’s too early to know the total death count yet, but people are hurt, and people are dead, and the rest of the people are angry.

“Authorities are now beginning to question what authority the so-called Avengers even had in going into Lagos,” a news anchor states sharply as a screen behind her scans over the chaotic scramble of a rescue attempt after the explosion. “The president of Nigeria has yet to make a statement but–”

Behind him, he hears the door to his room open, and he knows immediately who it is. Bucky remains silent as he comes in, his eyes skating over the scene before he comes over to sit next to him on the couch, his friend throwing one glance at the TV before leaning forward and reaching for the remote.

Steve says nothing as he clicks off the newsfeed, and Bucky lets the silence settle over them, the sounds of his even breathing filling the room. After a minute he shifts and looks him over, his gaze heavy. Steve stares ahead at the darkened TV screen and doesn’t shift his gaze.

“Bruce said you got burns on your hands,” Bucky says quietly, and Steve knows he’s eyeing the lack of bandages on his hands with suspicion.

“Already healed,” he says, his voice rasping slightly in his throat as he waves a hand at Bucky in proof, a few light pink spots on the palm and fingers the only lingering indication of his injury. Bucky seems satisfied by that, but he keeps looking at him, his one leg crossing over the other as he waits.

Steve swallows, and he knows that the serum will have already healed the smoke-inhalation, but his throat still feels dry. “Did the others already tell you anything?” he asks.

“A little,” is all Bucky says, and Steve knows that even if Bucky had known everything about the mission he would still be here, asking-without-asking because he knows Steve needs to talk about it.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, his gaze still fixed on the black TV screen as he speaks. “Rumlow was there like we thought,” he says, and Bucky doesn’t react beyond shifting a little in his seat. “I don’t know what he wanted. We thought that he was going to target the Institute for Infectious Diseases there, but Rhodey and Sam managed to interfere before they got inside, and then, they just ran.”

He waves a hand, mentally replaying the street chase in his mind’s eye as he speaks. “I don’t know what his plan was, but he must have planted the bomb beforehand,” he says. “I think the whole thing was a set up, but I don’t know why.”

He grinds his teeth in frustration and Bucky looks him over. “Did any of you guys get hurt?” he asks, and Steve shakes his head.

“Nothing besides minor burns and a bit of smoke,” he says, before he finally glances over to Bucky. “Can’t say the same for the people in the tower though.”

Bucky looks back at him, a solemn sort of gentleness in his eyes. “It's not your fault, Steve,” he says quietly.

Steve lets out a low sigh and leans his head back against the couch behind him, his shoulders slouching. “I know,” he gets out eventually. Misplaced guilt is something he’s been working on with Jason… but that doesn’t change the horribleness of what had happened, and how much he wishes it could have been different.

Next to him, Bucky breathes in and stands up. “Com’on,” he says, jerking his head towards the door. “We should go check on everyone else.”

Steve knows that the tactic is partially just to get him out of his room and doing something productive, but he accepts anyways and stands up, following Bucky as he leads him back out of his room.

“Have you heard anything about Peggy?” the man asks lowly, glancing at him briefly as they walk down the hall to the common room.

Steve sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets, his shoulder’s hunching slightly as he remembers more bad news. “They think it’s pneumonia,” he says. “Her son texted me again yesterday. He says it’s common for people with dementia to get pneumonia but…” It's also common for people with dementia to die from pneumonia.

He doesn’t say that though, and next to him, Bucky nods. “I wonder if we should visit her,” he says lowly, and Steve glances down.

Over the years, Peggy’s dementia had become more severe, and visits more painful. She doesn’t forget them exactly, but she forgets that they are alive, so a visit usually entails a distressing and emotional reunion with her. If it wasn’t so upsetting for Peggy, then he would visit her more often, but as it is, it’s almost less painful for her to think of them as dead, rather than to resurrect them every time they come over.

“We’ll have to see,” he says as he and Bucky step into the common room. Like the common room in the Tower had been, this one has a kitchen and dining area, along with a living room and entertainment setup spread out in an open floorplan.

The room is quiet, but not empty. Rhodey is sitting at the kitchen table, his phone to his ear, and Steve can see Bruce sitting with Sam over by the couches, their heads bent towards each other as they talk quietly.

Bucky follows him as he heads over to them, and he winces slightly as he sees the tired lines on Bruce’s face. The doctor hadn’t been part of the fight, but he had been part of the aftermath, trying to help the casualties of the attack while the Avengers had rushed to lessen the damage.

He glances up at Steve’s approach and he offers him something of a smile. “How’re your hands?” he asks, and Steve lifts them to show the healed skin.

“They’re fine,” he answers, before taking a seat on the other end of the couch, Bucky settling in a chair nearby. “Is Clint with Natasha?”

Bruce nods and Steve relaxes a little. They all need time to recover from the emotional toll of the mission, but he knows from experience that Clint and Natasha will be able to help each other. For now, he focuses mostly on Sam and Bruce, the pretense of small talk helping to keep the worst of the emotional backlash at bay, for now at least.

Behind them, Rhodey finishes his call and sets his phone down, looking over at them. “Tony’s coming over,” he says simply, and Steve rubs a hand over his face. Today they should have been congratulating Tony on his work with BARF and MIT, but now they have to deal with the disaster of their mission instead.

It’s obvious when Tony arrives that he has already heard about what had happened, and he sits dejectedly with them at the dinner table, staring into a cup of coffee in his hands. Natasha and Clint have joined them by now, and they fill him in on the details that his phone conversation with Rhodey hadn’t been able to cover.

He shakes his head and takes a sip from his cup, unhappy lines appearing by his mouth as he grimaces. “I should have been there,” he says tightly. “I didn’t want to postpone the MIT conference, but maybe if I’d been there then—”

“Rumlow would've blown the building anyways,” Steve cuts in immediately, not willing to let Tony try to spiral down into self-blame.

“Could’ve helped with search and rescue,” the man mumbles, not quite looking at him.

Steve knows that Tony is aware that what had happened isn’t his fault, but he finds he can’t fault the man too much for trying to take some of the blame anyways. What happened had been senseless, and he knows that it is human nature to try to find some kind of meaning or reason in the face of these kinds of disasters.

They don’t know Rumlow’s reasons, so instead they have to look to themselves, why didn’t they realise what was happening? Why weren’t they able to stop it?

Of course, that kind of thinking isn’t exactly healthy, and he can already hear Jason’s calm tones as he talks him through it, and untangles his self-deprecating thought patterns. You did your best, nobody can ask more than that from you.

But people are still dead.

oOo

As fate would have it, he has an appointment with Jason a few weeks after the initial incident. Their base is upstate now, so he has to drive a ways to get to the VA centre where Jason practices, but he doesn’t mind. He’s worked well with the man over the years, and he’d rather do the drive than find a new therapist.

His meetings with Jason are monthly now, rather than weekly like they had been when he’d first started seeing him, and usually that is enough, but this month had been difficult, what with his worry over Peggy, and now this.

He supposes he could have scheduled an emergency appointment with the man, but he’d been busy trying to deal with the aftermath of the mission, and he does have coping mechanisms that he’s learned to use, so he’d waited for his regularly scheduled appointment.

It is a bit of a relief to sit in Jason’s office though, and finally unload the stress of the last month. After three years, he already knows most of the things Jason is going to tell him, but it’s nice to be reminded sometimes.

“You know you can’t save everybody,” Jason says as he sits across from Steve. “It isn’t fair to yourself to place that burden on your shoulders.”

Steve sighs and slouches a little in his chair. “I know,” he says, his mouth twisting slightly in frustration. He glances out towards the window and shrugs. “I think… it’s hard this time because there was just nothing I could do at all. I didn’t know about the bomb until too late… and Rumlow just killed those people so he could get away.” His hand tightens into a fist on his knee. “They didn’t have to die, but he killed them anyways.”

The bomb feels pointless but purposeful, a typically cruel Hydra tactic to harm innocent bystanders to get at other people.

Jason talks a little while longer with him about dealing with his guilt and grief, as well as reminding him about coping mechanisms that he expects him to use, before moving on to what is likely to happen now – thanks to the mission – and what he is going to do about it.

“I don’t know everything that will happen yet,” Steve admits to him. “Of course we’ve made monetary compensations to the families of the victims but…” He shrugs and looks away. “I know that isn’t enough most of the time. I think for now, the incident is being investigated, and we’ll have to see what happens.”

In front of him, Jason shifts and crosses his leg over his knee, his chin resting on his hand as he thinks. “I don’t think this is going to go away any time soon,” he says, his eyes on Steve. “This is going to be stressful for a long time.”

His gaze flicks over Steve thoughtfully for a moment and he taps his foot once in the air. “Have you thought of taking a break at some point? Stepping back once this is settled to give yourself some time? I get the feeling that you’ll be too busy putting out this fire to really deal with any of it.”

Steve opens his mouth in defense and Jason sits up, holding his hand up. “I know it can’t be helped much,” he says. “You’re going to have to face whatever comes from this, and world leaders are not going to wait until you’re ready, but what I’m saying is, after this is all finally over, I think you should think of taking some time for yourself.”

Steve presses his lips together and shifts his eyes over to stare at the metal cuffs adorning the ends of Jason’s braids. “I don’t know…” he says slowly, thinking over Jason’s suggestion. “I guess it will all depend on what becomes of this but…” He picks slightly at the fabric of his jeans and glances back up at Jason. “Rumlow and Hydra will still be out there after all of this,” he says. “I can’t just leave them.”

In front of him, Jason shakes his head. “It’s not your responsibility to take out Hydra, Steve,” he says. Steve opens his mouth to protest but Jason holds up his hand again. “It's not,” he says firmly, his eyes on Steve. “It’s a commendable thing you’re doing,” he continues. “But nothing is obligating you to do it. Just because you fought Hydra before, doesn’t mean that you have to fight them forever.”

Steve scowls and looks down at his lap. What Jason says might technically be correct, but it still feels wrong. “Someone has to do it,” he argues, looking back up. “Hydra has done horrible things, they can’t just be left alone.”

Jason nods. “True,” he says carefully. “But you’re not doing this alone, Steve. You’re not ‘America’s only hope’ anymore. If you don’t do it, there are other people who will try. And,” he offers him a small smile. “I’m not asking you to stop forever. Just think about taking a break.” He shifts. “Is fighting really what you want to do forever?”

Steve swallows and looks back down, his hands twisting around in his lap. He can remember once, back when Bucky had been figuring out whether he wanted to join the Avengers, he had asked him something similar. Do you want to stay with the Avengers forever?

He wants to stay with them, because they are basically his family now… but does he want to fight with them forever?

“I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “I’ve been fighting for a long time.” He’s not exactly sure if he knows how to do anything else right now.

Back when he had first woken up from the ice, he had been lost. Nearly everyone he had known was dead, and he had had no direction to go in, none of his plans for after the war were viable anymore. SHIELD had been more than willing to take him under their wing, but he had learned very quickly that there had been more malicious intent in that than he was supposed to know about.

He had only been out of the ice for maybe two weeks before he’d learned that Hydra was still alive. The thing he’d fought and died to stop had survived the war and had infested the very institution he’d been working for… and then he had had to pretend to work for Hydra for months before he could finally try to take them down again.

He… never really had gotten a chance to stop fighting Hydra, had he? And now that he thinks about it, he has no idea whether Hydra will ever truly go down completely. Hydra is born out of hatred, ignorance and racism. Until those are gone from the Earth, Hydra will probably always have new members.  

He can’t fight the whole of human prejudice.

He can try. He can stop some of the worst of Hydra… but their ideas, and their fanaticism will always linger. Does he want to fight forever?

But if he stops…

“I don’t know if I can stop,” he says finally, his eyes glancing up at Jason briefly. “I know it’s not technically my job to stop Hydra, but if I stop trying, they’ll keep going, and I’ll feel like it’s my fault if they succeed at all.”

Jason’s gaze is soft when he looks at him, and Steve glances away. He’d been doing his best not to feel guilty over individual missions, but if he stops doing missions at all, then he will definitely feel guilty.

“It's not your fault people are horrible, Steve,” Jason tells him softly.

Steve huffs, his fingers tightening in his lap. “But it is my fault if I could have stopped them, but didn’t,” he challenges. “What was the point of the serum otherwise?”

Jason remains calm at his sharp words and clasps his hands in his lap, his foot tapping again. “The serum was given to you to fight a war seventy years ago,” he says simply, his eyes meeting Steve’s. “That war is over now, Steve. It’s your choice what the serum is for now.”

Steve swallows, his eyes locked on to Jason’s, the man continuing without letting up. “You've done good work,” he says. “But you don’t have an obligation to do anything you don’t want to do. You are allowed to rest, soldier.”

Steve chokes and darts his eyes down to his lap, his throat suddenly swollen tight as his gaze goes blurry. “I’m not— very good at that,” he admits with a shaky smile, blinking his eyes back into focus as he glances up at Jason.

“I know,” he says gently. “And like I said, you don’t have to stop forever, Steve. But it’s your choice. You can take a break, you can choose your battles. Hunting Hydra isn’t just your responsibility.”

Steve nods and breathes in slowly, rolling his shoulders as he settles himself. “I’ll think about it,” he says, and Jason gives him a simple nod, knowing that that is all he can give right now.

“You won’t have to do it alone,” he says finally, offering him a bright smile. “That’s what you’ve got me for.”

oOo

He has a lot to think about on his drive back to the compound. He doesn’t know how to feel about Jason’s suggestion to take a break. He understands the man’s argument that he can, if he wants to, but he doesn’t know what to do with that.

He still can’t help feeling like if he stops fighting, then he will be responsible for the people that he could have saved, but didn’t. How can he justify stepping back when Rumlow is out there blowing up buildings, and Hydra is sinking in to manipulate governments and send the world into chaos?

But Hydra might never be defeated. He might never get a chance to stop.

Does he want to fight forever?

When he arrives back at the compound, he seeks Bucky out, figuring that his friend would be the most likely to have some insight for this particular problem, since Bucky himself had decided not to join him on his hunt for Hydra. He finds Bucky in the garage, sitting cross-legged on the ground next to an Avengers vehicle with its hood up, a textbook open on his lap.

He smiles at the sight. Bucky is now almost finished his second and final year in the Automotive Technician program at Lincoln Tech. It is a bit of a drive for him to get to class every day, but he knows that Bucky enjoys the course, and he claims that his metal arm is actually an asset for him during the hands-on portion.

He looks up and smiles as Steve comes in. “Did you just get back?” he asks as Steve moves to lean back against a car next to the one Bucky is working on.

He nods. “Yeah,” he says simply. Bucky doesn’t ask about the specifics of the session, just like Steve doesn’t ask him much about what he talks about in his own sessions with Carmen. He knows Bucky will talk to him if he needs to, and Bucky knows that exact same thing is true for him.

Even if it isn’t exactly fun.

Steve watches as Bucky works on the car for a while, before finally bringing up what is on his mind. “Does it bother you, not going on missions?” he asks, his hands pressing down on the car under him. “Do you feel sometimes like you should go on them, even if you might not want to?”

Bucky glances at him for a moment before reaching for a rag to wipe the wrench he had been working with. “Not too much anymore,” he says after a moment. “Sometimes I used to wonder if I really deserved to just be fixin’ cars and visiting my sister when I could be fighting Hydra…” He shrugs and glances back up at Steve. “Talked a lot about that with Carmen. She says I don’t have to feel guilty because I don’t owe anything to anyone. I might be able to fight Hydra, but that doesn’t mean I have to.”

Steve swallows as he thinks over Bucky’s words. It seems as though Carmen has a similar stance as Jason, which probably shouldn’t be a surprise.

“Besides,” Bucky continues, his voice growing slightly muffled as he looks back inside the hood of the car. “There’s more than one way to fight Hydra. For me, just living a life at all is a big middle finger to them.”

Steve smiles at that and he can’t help agreeing. “Yeah, that makes sense,” he says quietly, looking down as he thinks. He can appreciate what Bucky is saying, but the idea of putting a hold on his fight still feels a little bit like giving up to him, like admitting that Hydra has won, that he can’t fight them anymore.

But… as much as he hates to admit it, their old adage about ‘cut off one head and two more shall take its place’ isn’t exactly wrong. No matter how hard he fights, there will always be people who want Hydra, or believe in their ideology. Fighting that is a lot harder than hunting down rogue operatives and hidden bunkers.

If he were to take a step back from doing that – even for just a little bit… well, Jason is right. There are other people, besides the Avengers even, who are also trying to fight Hydra and its ideals. It won’t be like there will be no one left to fight if he takes a break.

Of course, there is the symbol of Captain America to think about, and what it will look like if the American hero pulls out of the fight… but he knows already what Jason would say to that. Captain America isn’t actually a real person. Steve Rogers is though, and he’s allowed to be human sometimes.

Watching Bucky work on his car, Steve wonders if he’s allowed to be human enough to find something else to do besides fight. He’s not even certain what that would be exactly. He hasn’t had to think of that in so long – not since before the war really – and he has to admit that probably some of his reluctance in giving up fighting for a while is the fear of what that would look like.

Setting down his shield for a while would mean he would have to figure out who he is without it, and… he isn’t sure anymore.

Which might be why Jason brought up the idea, he thinks wryly, shaking his head a little. Still, regardless of the reason, he has other things to worry about right now, because he can’t take a break until their mission in Lagos has been dealt with.

oOo

Jason is right about the Lagos mission not going away anytime soon, and the rest of his life isn’t on hold either. Peggy’s son informs him that her condition is worsening, but Steve has yet to find a time to visit her, thanks to everything else, and a week after his appointment with Jason – and almost a month after the initial incident – he sits in front of the TV in the common room, his eyes on the screen as their failed mission gets covered yet again.

“Eleven Wakandans were among those killed during the confrontation between the Avengers and a group of mercenaries in Lagos, Nigeria, last month,” the news anchor reports. “The traditionally reclusive Wakandans were on an outreach mission in Lagos when the attack occurred.”

The screen changes from scenes of the attack, to the image of the Wakandan king, T’Chaka. “Our people’s blood is spilled on foreign soil,” he says. “Not only because of the actions of criminals, but by the indifference of those pledged to stop them.” Bitter guilt pools in Steve’s stomach and he swallows, pressing his lips together as he listens. “Victory at the expense of the innocent,” the king continues. “Is no victory at all.”

The clip ends and the news anchors go on to discuss the fact that the Avengers had been working outside of international law, and they move on to question their legal authority to go on missions at all. Steve rubs his hand over his face and turns off the TV with a sigh.

He understands the complex legal minefield the Avengers tread. Pepper and her legal team are able to smooth some of it for them, but hunting Hydra is complicated by nationalities and borders and collateral damage. He is aware enough of his countries history of occupation to know that some countries very much do not want a team of US based operatives coming into their territory.

And of course, Hydra takes advantage of that.

Steve sighs again, but gets cut off as JARVIS speaks up. “Sir wishes you to know that he will be arriving shortly,” he says. “I suggest you move into the meeting room. He is accompanied by a guest.”

Steve blinks and looks up at the ceiling. “Do we know who it is?” he asks.

“The Secretary of State, Captain.”

oOo

Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross isn’t exactly popular with the Avengers. It probably has something to do with the fact that he had relentlessly hunted one of their members for several years.

As it is, Ross’ mouth twitches downwards slightly as he catches sight of Bruce coming into the meeting room, but otherwise he doesn’t say anything, his gaze lingering slightly on Bucky before he situates himself at the front of the room.

“Well,” he says, in a sort of breathy brisk tone that Steve dislikes instantly. Ross darts his eyes around the room once as his assistant sets up his computer presentation and Steve flicks his eyes down to a large bag on the floor, its contents yet to be revealed.

He glances up to Tony next, the man sitting across from him, and he can’t help wincing a little as he catches sight of the bags under his eyes. This last month hasn’t been easy for any of them, and he’s certain that Ross’ presentation will only add to that.

Tony twitches his mouth slightly at him, and they both turn to look to the front of the room as Ross’ assistant steps back and the man himself looks them over, his eyes crinkling in a practiced smile that sets Steve’s teeth on edge.

“Well,” he says again. “Let’s get started, shall we?” 

Chapter Text

“I’m sure you all know why I’m here,” Ross starts off, his eyes landing on each of them in turn, even if his gaze slips off of Bruce rather quickly. “The world, owes the Avengers an un-payable debt,” he continues rather flatly.

Steve flicks his eyes around the room and none of them seem to be particularly moved by the declaration. They are tense. They know something is coming. “You have fought for us,” Ross continues. “Protected us, risked your lives…” He dips his chin. “But, while a great many people see you as heroes, there are some… who would prefer the word ‘vigilantes’.”

Next to him, Natasha doesn’t even move as she speaks up, her face completely composed as she looks at Ross. “And what word would you use, Mr. Secretary?”

Ross’ gaze glints for a split-second off of both Bruce and Bucky before he looks at Natasha. “How about ‘dangerous’?” he says, his voice hardening slightly. “What else would you call a group of US-based, enhanced individuals who routinely ignore sovereign borders and inflict their will wherever they choose, and who, frankly, seem unconcerned about what they leave behind?”

Steve’s jaw tightens at the last line. One look at his team should be enough to know that none of them are ‘unconcerned’ by what had happened in Nigeria, or about any of the unintentional damage that occurs during their missions. Next to him, Bucky nudges his foot under the table and Steve reluctantly loosens his jaw, sitting back as Ross turns to his presentation.

It turns out that his opening statements had been the highlight of the meeting, and they can only go downhill from there, because Ross seems intent on demonstrating just how damaging the Avengers can be, the screen behind him lighting up with a visual representation.

“New York,” he says, as the screen flickers with shaky footage from the alien invasion four years ago.

The hackles that Steve had managed to lower just seconds ago rise up again, because New York hadn’t even been their fault, and they had done their best to control the damage, and Ross seems to have conveniently forgotten the fact that the WSC had sent a nuclear missile to New York, which would have blown up the city if Tony hadn’t literally killed himself to intervene.

He grits his teeth as Ross moves on to the next scene (not before pointedly showing the Hulk in a rage against the alien invaders though.) “Washington DC,” he says, as the screen changes to the three Insight Helicarriers firing at each other, destruction raining down into the Potomac and risking civilians.

This example too, Steve finds to be unfair. If they hadn’t neutralised the Helicarriers, then twenty million people would be dead. Maybe if they had had time, they could have found a way to stop the Helicarriers without destroying them, but he finds that he is not all that upset that the military is now lacking them. Fury’s plan for them hadn’t been all that much better than Hydra’s.

He wonders if that is part of the reason Ross resents them.

“Lagos,” the man says as he flicks to the final scene. Steve glances down at this one, because he can’t deny that that one can be placed squarely on their shoulders. He doubts – he hopes – that Rumlow wouldn’t have set off the bomb if they hadn’t been chasing him, so, if they hadn’t been there, then it probably wouldn’t have happened.

Rumlow might have gotten into the disease institute instead, but that is only a what-if at this point.

In front of him, Ross nods at the aid to turn off the presentation, and then turns to them, his eyes piercing. “And that isn’t counting the fact that – without prior authorisation – you went into Sokovia, took the sceptre, and gave it away to Thor,” he says, his gaze cutting to Steve.

Steve stares back at him and wonders internally if the man is more mad about their circumventing of protocol, or the fact that they had very thoroughly removed the scepter from the planet – and away from anyone who might want to use it — Hydra or otherwise.

“And then there is what you did in Siberia,” the man continues, his mustache bristling. “You went into foreign territory and purposely executed their citizens. You consulted no one before you did this. What you did could have set off an international incident, even war.”

Steve’s eyes drop and he glares at the table, keeping his mouth shut. While what Ross is saying might be technically true, he can’t help thinking bitterly of the ‘Operation Paperclip’ that had brought Zola from Hydra into SHIELD. He glances up at Ross and does not ask how likely it would have been for the Siberian Winter Soldiers to have been recruited in a similar way, if the Avengers had taken them prisoner, rather than killing them.

He is pretty sure he won’t like the answer.

In front of them, Ross raises his chin. “For the past four years, you’ve operated with unlimited power and no supervision,” he says, moving to stand with his hands clasped behind his back as he looks down at them. “That’s an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. “But–” He turns to look at his aid. “I think we have a solution.”

Behind him, the aid reaches down into the mysterious bag, and pulls out a thick book. He hands it over to Ross, who then sets it down in front of the person closest to him, which happens to be Clint.

“The Avenger Accords,” Ross states as Clint raises an eyebrow and slides the manual over to Tony.

Ross continues to hand out the books and soon Steve has his own copy, the white and blue title staring up at him. “Approved by 117 countries,” Ross continues, and Steve feels a jolt of shock at the fact that these ‘Accords’ have progressed so far without any of their knowledge. His eyes flick up to Ross, the man now pacing slowly at the front of the room.

“It states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization,” he says, as he begins to step around the table, walking into everyone’s individual blind spots. Bruce keeps very still as he goes behind him and Steve grits his teeth. “Instead,” the man continues, moving to go around the other side of the table. “They will operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when, and if, that panel deems it necessary.”

The last line sends a tendril of panic to squirm down in Steve’s stomach, and he fights back a flash of anger. He supposes he should have expected something like this, after what had happened in Lagos, but the Avengers have done good too, they are not simply the disasters that Ross has chosen to show. He knows how slow the UN is at things, and Hydra will surely be aware of it too. They will be crippled by this panel.   

His hands tighten slightly on the thick manual in front of him. “The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place,” he says, because he has to say something in the face of this. “I feel we’ve done that.”

Ross pauses next to him and looks down at him. “Tell me, Captain,” he says, shifting knowingly. “When was the last time you’ve heard from Thor?”

Steve looks up and meets his eyes. “Thor checked in last year,” he says evenly, and Ross’ mouth twitches.

“See that…” he shakes a hand at him, “is dangerous. You have an alien on your team, Captain, and you can’t even keep track of him, or regulate his presence on Earth. I can tell you right now that if I were so blasé about a couple of 30 megaton nukes… you can bet there would be consequences.”

Steve feels his jaw clench and he has to consciously keep from gripping his book too tightly. Ross’ words grate on him because, for one thing, Thor isn’t an inanimate weapon, he is a person. A thousand-year-old person in fact, and Steve is pretty sure that checking in every few years is probably regular contact in Thor’s eyes.

Ross continues back to the front of the room and his eyes dart to Bruce. Steve scowls at that, and he knows that the man is used to seeing powerful people as tools at best, and dangerous at worst. Ross doesn’t provoke the doctor though, instead his eyes turn to Bucky.

Ross’ gaze flickers to Bucky’s metal arm, and Steve can feel himself tense. “Sergeant Barnes’ position is particularly contentious,” Ross says, and out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Bucky stiffen, his hands moving to clench together under the table, his jaw tightening at Ross’ words.

“How do you expect the world governments to be comfortable with him,” Ross continues, “when he has spent the last seventy years terrorising them? Are we supposed to simply trust you that he is completely harmless now? Are we supposed to simply ignore his past actions?” He raises his chin. “Do his victims get no justice?”

Steve’s breath catches at the implications and a wave of fury rolls over him. Bucky isn’t even part of the Avengers, and Ross is busy acting like his very existence is a crime. His eyes burn and he isn’t exactly sure what his hands are doing anymore, but his mouth opens as the last of his patience gives out and he gets ready to tell Ross exactly what he thinks.

“Sir,” JARVIS cuts in, and Steve pauses, his train of thought jack-knifing as he looks up to the ceiling, the rest of the Avengers looking equally startled at the AI’s interruption. “The ’Test of Character’ protocol has been activated,” JARVIS continues, his tone achingly dry. “Secretary Ross has failed the ‘Being a dick to Barnes’ category.”

Across from him, Clint chokes, and the noise prompts other muffled smiles from the Avengers as Ross’ eyes narrow. Steve breathes in as JARVIS’ interruption gives him a chance to calm down slightly, and he flicks his gaze up to Tony, the man sitting with a hint of a smile on his face, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

He hadn’t realised that Tony had actually implemented the program Clint had jokingly suggested all those years ago, but apparently he had, and Steve gets the impression that JARVIS’ decision to interrupt everything to inform them of it had been more of a strategic decision on the AI’s part than a strict adherence to any programming from Tony.

Either way, it had cut off Ross’ roll, and the man tugs stiffly on his suit jacket as he pulls back, attempting to get the room under his control again. “Three days from now,” he says, frowning at them. “The UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords.”

Three days? Steve thinks, meeting Tony’s gaze with a flare of alarm. Why hadn’t they been warned of this before? He looks down at the thick manual and swallows. Three days to make an informed decision about it.

“Talk it over,” Ross tells them coldly.

Next to him, Natasha shifts and looks up at him. “And if we come to a decision you don’t like?” she asks smoothly.

Ross turns to look them over. “Then you retire,” he says flatly.

oOo

If we all retire, Steve wonders, as he and the Avengers gather to sit in one of the living rooms, the book of accords open on his lap. I wonder if they would change the Accords to entice us back, or if they really are willing to risk losing this defense team entirely?

At the moment though, he isn’t certain if the whole team will want to retire. They still need to figure out what the Accords even are, before they can make a decision. Not that they have a lot of time to actually do that.

“If I have to read any more legalese my brain is going to melt,” Clint grumbles, his brow furled as he glares down at his book. “How do they expect us to get through this in three days?”

“They don’t,” Sam replies darkly, waving at his book. “You think they came up with this a few days ago? They’ve probably been working on this for a while. Before Lagos I bet. There’s a reason they haven’t given it to us until now.”

“Wait.” They all look up as Natasha speaks up, her fingers tapping against her book. “Do you think they told Lang?” she asks. “He isn’t officially an Avenger, but if this gets ratified and he does any vigilante stuff, he could get stung. He has Cassie, you know. He’ll want to be careful.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he reaches to pull out his phone. “I’ll text him,” he says. “Ross didn’t say anything about how they were going to get any other enhanced people besides us to sign it…”

And that is probably significant, isn’t it? The Avengers aren’t the only people out there who have powers and use them in one way or another. If the Accords go through without any warning… He glances down at the book in his lap, and wonders when he will get to the ‘enforcement’ part of the Accords.

Shaking his head, he turns back to his phone, clicking on Scott’s contact. “Ross didn’t say anything about staying silent,” he says. “But it’s too much to explain over text. I’ll tell him to keep out of the suit for the next few weeks.” He finishes his text and glances up to where Tony is sitting across from him, his manual on the coffee table. “You should probably do the same for Spider-man,” he says quietly.

Tony's eyes widen and he reaches immediately for his phone. “Right,” he says. “Geez, I didn’t even think of that.”

Steve nods and can’t help smiling at the reminder of Tony’s protegee. The kid had come to his attention when he’d left behind some interesting webs on Tony’s Tower one day, and the man had very quickly become intent on tracking him down. For the most part, Spider-man keeps to New York, and Steve has only met him a few times, but the kid and Tony seem to bounce well off each other.

He glances down at his manual, his eyes glancing over the section header reading, Registration of Enhanced Individuals, and he bites his lip, his finger tapping against the page. He is pretty sure that Tony knows the identity of Spider-man, but the kid has so far kept his identity secret from the rest of them. If the Accords go through and Spider-man were required to sign them… he’d have to reveal his identity to an entire panel.

His eyes glance up to Tony and he wonders if he’s thought of that either.

He looks down again at the book and flips through it, the pages falling open on the blueprints of a tall cylindrical building. The Raft, the title reads, and as he scans the labels and the accompanying page of explanation, he can’t help the anxious tightening in his gut. It’s a prison, a prison for enhanced individuals, built under the sea.

Is this already built? he thinks a little frantically, flipping through a few more pages. How long has this been in the works? More importantly, what kinds of things warrant incarceration in this prison? How strict is the policy? Who will be policing it?

Will it be us? Steve thinks suddenly, stilling over the page. Is there a reason the Avengers are getting the Accords first – besides Lagos? You will operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, Ross had said. Only when, and if, that panel deems it necessary. What kinds of missions do they deem as ‘necessary’? Are the Avengers to be their new police force?

The more he reads about the Accords, the less and less he likes them, and he doesn’t seem to be the only one. With a sigh, Bruce pulls off his reading glasses and tosses his book onto the coffee table. “Well, I’m out,” he says, wiping his glasses with his shirt and shaking his head. “Not that I’d be comfortable doing something with Ross anyways.”

Sam glances over at him. “You’re not signing?”

Bruce shakes his head again. “No,” he says, gesturing at the book. “I have my own thing I want to do with the Other guy, and there’s no way he would be able to follow orders well enough for these people. Besides, Ross already wants me in a cage so…”

Steve blinks and his mind flashes back to his army days, and the blurry line as to how much his new body was actually the property of the military. He can remember the doctors who had been just a little too interested in him, and even Colonel Phillips, who had originally wanted to put him in a lab somewhere. His eyes flick up to Bucky and he wonders just how deep these Accords go. How much of his autonomy would he be signing away?

“I doubt Ross will be on the panel,” Rhodey argues, bringing Steve’s mind back to the matter at hand. “And besides, wouldn’t they avoid sending Hulk into delicate situations?”

“How can we guarantee that?” Sam cuts in, waving his hand. “We’re expected to believe that this ‘panel’ will know the best way to deploy us? I’ll bet you most of them haven’t been in recent combat, and the rest have definitely not fought aliens or Hydra. We’re going to get a bunch of politicians trying to wind us up like toy soldiers.”

“Okay…” Rhodey says slowly. “First of all, we don’t know that. Second of all,” he taps his finger on his book. “If we don’t sign it, then we don’t get to fight at all. Isn’t it better to fight when we can? Isn’t that why you joined the Avengers, even though you left the military?”

Sam huffs and folds his arms. “I joined the Avengers because I believed in what we were doing. When it’s just us, we can be sure we’re doing what’s right. We don’t have that certainty with the panel.”

Across from him, Natasha looks up. “But what if we don’t do the right thing?” she asks, leaning forward to place her elbows on her knees. “You heard Ross, some of our missions into other countries have been dangerous to world peace. If we’re sanctioned by the UN, then we can be sure that we aren’t invading anyone.”  

Next to her, Clint purses his lips. “They’ll still be a lot of places we won’t be able to get in though,” he says, thumbing his book pages as he speaks. “We don’t know what kind of time it takes to get sanctioned missions approved.”

“We won’t be able to go anywhere anyways,” Tony counters, reaching up a hand to rub at his temple. “These Accords are going to go through. If we want to keep fighting, we sign them. Otherwise we won’t be going into any countries.”

Silence descends for a moment after that, and Tony sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “Look,” he says. “This was coming the moment that bomb blew up in Nigeria. They had everything prepared, this just gave them a concrete reason.” He looks up at them. “The fact remains that we have power, and that scares people.” He gives them a rueful smile. “And maybe we do need to be put in check.” He shrugs and looks away. “Heaven knows I’m reckless enough by myself. Wouldn’t it be better to have safeguards?”

Steve swallows. “I don’t know,” he says quietly, calling Tony’s eyes to him. “Before we could take responsibility for our actions. With this we will have no control. We won’t know who we’re working for.”

He looks over as Rhodey shakes his head. “We do know who we’re working for,” he says. “This is the United Nations, it’s not the World Security Council, it’s not SHIELD or Hydra, Steve.”

Steve presses his lips together. Who says the United Nations isn’t like SHIELD or Hydra? he thinks. How will we know before it’s too late?

Almost no one at SHIELD had known the evil the organisation had been used for… but he had seen it. He’d seen it everyday when he’d gone undercover. And even if Hydra has somehow been unable to infiltrate the United Nations, Steve knows better to put his blind faith in them. He had been alive for their predecessor; he had seen how the League of Nations had dithered around and shied away from stopping the Second World War before it could break out.

“Even if that’s true,” he says, looking at Rhodey. “It’s still run by people with agendas, and agendas change.”

He looks over as Tony jumps in. “Okay, but nobody’s saying that they can’t change for the better. When I realised what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands, I shut down and stopped manufacturing.”

Steve blinks as he suddenly understands better where Tony is coming from. The man has already seen the devastation his own plans could bring, and Steve wonders if he has trouble trusting himself now, questioning his own morality and judgement.

He shouldn’t, he thinks, a touch sadly. He’s seen the news reports from when Tony had shut down production. He hadn’t dithered at all, he’d realised his mistake, and he’d fixed it.

“Tony,” he says, meeting his eyes. “You chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose.” He waves his hand. “What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go?” His mind flashes back to his time in the USO, shunted off to the side because he was too valuable as an asset. “What if there is somewhere we need to go, and they don’t let us?” He thinks about how he had to break protocol to rescue Bucky and finally be used properly in the war effort.

He thinks about how frustrating and painful it had been to work for Hydra, how much he’d hated following their orders, even if it had been ‘for the greater good’.

He cannot do that again.  

Tony looks pained as he looks up at him. “If we don’t do this now,” he says. “It’s gonna be done to us later. That’s a fact.” He shakes his head. “It won’t be pretty.”

Contrary to what Tony was probably intending, his statement make Steve even less disposed towards the Accords. He does not like being forced into things. He understands why the UN wants to regulate them, but their stipulations feel more dangerous than helpful. He does not want to be helpless again, like he had been with Hydra.

“Maybe he’s right,” Natasha says quietly, and Steve glances towards her. “Even if we don’t sign, these will go forward and effect a lot of other people. Maybe if we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer.”

Tony sits up and points at her. “Exactly,” he says. “I won’t lie that there’s some stuff in here–” He gestures at the book on the coffee table. “–that isn’t pretty. But we don’t have the time to change that right now. But we might be able to later. I have my lawyers; we can make it better.”

On the couch, Clint puffs out his cheeks. “Maybe,” he concedes, glancing over at Natasha and Tony. “But… there’s no guarantee how long that will take.” He shakes his head, looking down. “In the meantime, the Accords will be in control.” He sucks in a breath and lets it out. “I’ve had enough being controlled,” he says, glancing up at them all. “And I hated finding out what SHIELD was. I think… I think it would be best for me and my family if I retired.”

Steve nods slowly, glancing down at the manual in his lap as he wonders if Clint would be legally required to disclose his family to the UN if he signed. His mind flashes back to the family, Laura, Cooper, Lila, and now baby Nathaniel, and he knows that Clint would never knowingly put them in danger.

Clint bringing up retirement again makes him think though. Could he stand retirement? He doesn’t want to sign the Accords, but if he doesn’t, he can't fight anymore. He almost chuckles at the realisation, because hadn’t Jason just been talking to him about taking a break?

Maybe I can, he thinks, flipping through a few more pages of the Accords and wondering vaguely if there is some kind of ‘release’ date on it. Will whoever signs be able to stop at will? How long are they contracted out to the UN?

The lack of clarity over it makes him nervous, and he isn’t the only one. “I don’t think I can sign it either,” Sam states. “I mean, I don’t want to stop fighting, but I was done marching to the beat of someone else’s drum when I left the army.”

Across from him, Rhodey folds his arms. “I don’t mind signing,” he says, darting his eyes around them. “I’m used to following orders, and I think we can do more good inside the UN than out of it.”

Steve sees Tony nod and Natasha look thoughtful at Rhodey’s words, and he glances over the group, before looking over to his left. “What do you think, Buck?” he asks quietly, noticing how his friend hasn’t spoken yet.

In the chair a few feet from him, Bucky blinks and shrugs his shoulder, his arms folded. “I think you guys both have good points,” he says. “But I’m glad I’m not an Avenger, and I don’t gotta worry about this.”

His gaze flicks over them and he slouches slightly in his chair. “I don’t think I could sign it though,” he admits. “I’ve had enough people controlling me.” He glances up and locks eyes with Steve. “I think the world governments have had enough super soldiers at their beck and call.” He swallows and shakes his head, looking down at the book in Steve’s lap. “The Accords will give certain people a lot of power.”

Steve swallows and nods slowly. He has never been more grateful that Bucky isn’t an Avenger right now, although if the look in Ross’ eye had been any indication, there are people who seem to feel that Bucky needs permission to live, no matter what he is doing.

“That power will be there regardless,” Tony speaks up, drawing his eyes over. “We won't be able to do anything about it on the outside.” He sets his jaw. “So, I’m gonna sign.”

Steve’s eyes linger on Tony for a moment and he thinks back to the files he had read about how Tony’s own Board of Directors had attempted to stonewall him and turn him into a puppet for his own company. We won’t be able to do anything about it on the outside, he’d said, and he wonders if by signing he will really be able to help ‘steer’ like Natasha had said.

His eyes dart to her as she nods along with Tony’s words, her jaw flexing. “Me too,” she says firmly, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap, before flicking her eyes to the rest of them. “Some of us need to be there for this,” she says solemnly. “Hydra is still out there. I don’t feel comfortable ignoring that. If this is how we fight, then so be it.”

Steve presses his lips together, and thinks back to his arguments with Jason when the man had tried to convince him to take a break. Hydra is still out there, but… but… but in signing the Accords, he doesn’t actually have a guarantee that he will be able to fight Hydra. He has no idea what he is getting into with the Accords. There is not enough time to get comfortable with them and figure out what exactly he is signing.

And… he is supposed to figure out how to take a break anyways…

Forced retirement is certainly one way to go.

He sighs and closes the book in his lap, looking up at the group around him. “I can’t do it,” he says, his stomach squirming around as he speaks. “I can’t sign.”

There is silence, and Tony stares at him for a long moment, before he rubs a hand over his face. “Alright then,” he says quietly, his eyes dropping. “I guess we’re all decided.”

Steve’s heart twists at his words, because this is not how he’d imagined leaving the Avengers. This team had grown with him for years, and now they have to more or less split ways, legally unable to fight together anymore.

He bites his cheek and looks down, wishing they had longer to come to terms with all of this. Everything is just so fast— the buzzing of his phone distracts him from his thoughts and he reaches for it, expecting it to be a reply from Scott.

Instead his heart stops as he recognises the number of Peggy’s son.

She’s gone, the text reads. In her sleep.

The words are a punch to the gut, and time seems to slow as he reads the text, his heart stuttering in his chest as his breath freezes, his eyes staring down at the words. He’d— He’d known that Peggy— that it was getting bad. But somehow he hadn’t actually expected her to die. Not right now, not like this. He hadn’t— he hadn’t even been able to visit her. He'd been so busy—

His heart squeezes in his chest and he stands up abruptly, his mind spinning as a buzzing settles in his ears and he sets his Accords book on the coffee table. “I have to go,” he gets out, functioning mostly on autopilot as he turns away from the worried stares around him.

Go where? He isn’t sure. Away from this right now. Away from the Accords and that problem because now he has to deal with this problem and he hadn’t even visited her—

He makes it to the bottom of the stairs before he stops, the trip from point A to point B mostly a blur in his mind. His hand shakes slightly as he raises it to his eyes and he bows his head, breathing in a few times in an attempt to calm down.

He had known this was coming, he had, but it just— on top of everything else—

“Steve?”

He looks up to find Bucky at the top of the stairs, a worried expression on his face as he comes down to meet him, his eyes flicking over him searchingly. “What’s wrong?”

Steve swallows down a growing lump in his throat and wipes at his eyes, which are determinedly wet. He fishes out his phone from his pocket and pulls up the text, his voice tight and trapped in his throat as he shows it to Bucky. “Peggy,” he gets out. “She’s…”

He trails off because his throat closes up, but Bucky understands anyways, sorrow spiking through his eyes as he looks up at him, sadness lining his face. Steve’s breath hitches at his reaction and he swallows again. “We didn’t—” The phone in his hand shakes. “We didn’t even—”

And then Bucky is pulling him into a hug, his hand coming up to cup his head as his chin goes into his shoulder. Steve shudders and brings his arm up to wrap around Bucky, his eyes squeezing shut as Bucky tightens his grip.

“Why’re you always going off to mourn in private, Stevie?” he mumbles roughly into his ear.

Steve lets out a watery laugh and presses his face deeper into Bucky’s shoulder. “Habit, I guess,” he mumbles back, earning a muffled ‘humph’ from his friend.

Eventually he pulls back, his breathing more even now as he wipes his face, pocketing his phone again. He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out again, pressing his lips up at Bucky as he runs a hand through his hair and looks up the stairs. “I’ll have to tell everyone,” he realises, dragging his hand down his face.

As if we didn’t already have enough to worry about, he thinks tiredly, turning to climb back up again, the three-day deadline for the Accords sitting heavily in the back of his mind. 

Bucky follows him up the stairs, and Steve takes in a breath as he reaches the landing, before he clenches his jaw and heads over to the collection of couches, mentally trying to figure out what he is going to say.

He doesn’t need to say anything though, because when he gets to his chair, Tony is staring down at his phone, the horror Steve had felt plain on his face, and Steve realises that Peggy’s son must have just texted him.

He stops behind his chair, and Tony darts his head up to look at him, pain evident in his eyes as his hand tightens on his phone. His voice, when it comes out, is rough and low. “Aunt Peggy’s… gone.”

Chapter Text

Peggy’s death throws a wrench into everything. Not only do the Avengers have to send their signatures off to the UN (the ones who want to sign at least), but now they have to deal with the funeral of a close friend.

Steve knows that Peggy hadn’t been close to all the Avengers, but she had been Tony’s godmother, and his and Bucky’s friend, and even Clint and Natasha had revered her as SHIELD’s founder, so her death hits as a shock to all of them.

Another complication is the timing of the funeral. Peggy and her family had known she was dying, so her will and funeral wishes are in order, but Peggy had chosen not to be embalmed, which means that the funeral has to be soon, giving them little time to prepare, and even less to deal with the Accords.

“Of course it has to be on the same day,” Tony grumbles a day later as he pulls at his hair, sitting in front of his laptop at the counter. “Nothing can be simple for us, can it?”

Tony, Natasha, and Rhodey had sent off their signatures to the UN earlier that morning, but the Avengers are expected to make an appearance at the actual ratification meeting tomorrow, which just so happens to be on the same day as Peggy’s funeral.

“Will you be ready in time?” Steve asks, looking up from his phone as he texts confirmations and clarifications back and forth with Peggy’s family. He and Bucky had been asked to be pallbearers, which is a bit of a daunting responsibility, but he doubts he is as nervous as Tony, who had been asked to speak.

Tony sighs and runs a hand through his hair again, giving it an exhausted tug. “Yeah,” he says finally, looking at the typed-up document in front of him. “Peggy already told me that she wanted me to speak at her funeral, so when she got sick, I started planning out some things. But I’d hoped…”

He trails off and Steve knows that he had hoped not to have to use his plans for a while yet. He swallows and looks back down at his phone. It hurts, Peggy dying. There are very, very few people left that he knows from his past life, and Peggy’s death acts as a sharp reminder to the fact that he has outlived most of the people he used to know.

Will I outlive the Avengers too? he wonders suddenly, the thought cold and horrible in his brain. He hadn’t thought about it much before, but… he doesn’t actually know how fast he ages. In theory, the serum protects his cells… so if it protects his cells from aging…

He blinks and gives his head a sharp shake. There is no point in worrying about that now, he thinks a little desperately. He has no way to really know about his aging, so stressing about it now is unhelpful and pointlessly distressing.

Instead, he needs to focus on Peggy, and Peggy’s funeral, and then the ratification of the Accords and then… figure out what he is going to do with his life now that he can’t fight as an Avenger.

He suspects that once these next few days are over, he is going to need to schedule another appointment with Jason.

In the meantime, he spends the day before Peggy’s funeral finding his dress clothes and confirming schedules with her family, and doing everything he can to stop from thinking too much. He finds himself sitting in his room afterwards, his eyes zoned out and his head blank as he sits curled up on his couch, staring emptily at the fading light from his window. He doesn’t want to move, because if he sits still like this, then he doesn’t have to think.

He doesn’t want to think about Peggy’s funeral, or the abruptness of it, or the equally abrupt Accords and split of the Avengers. It feels like everything in his life is suddenly falling out from under him, all in three days, and he isn’t ready yet. Sure he’d talked with Jason about retiring, but he hadn’t even really agreed to do it… but now suddenly, he is, and he has to figure out what that is going to look like, as well as deal with the fallout from the Accords, and Peggy’s death.

He lets out a deep sigh and drags his hand over his face, closing his eyes in mental exhaustion as his thoughts spin. One step at a time, he reminds himself. That is what Jason would say. One thing at a time.

In that case, the next thing he needs to do, the most immediate thing he needs to do, is get up, and go to bed. Tomorrow will not be any easier if he is running on inadequate sleep. Even so, the thought of actually moving is so unappealing that it takes him a full five minutes to even get started.

Just grab the couch and push off, he thinks to himself as he finally sits up, his head unbearably heavy. He stands up and grits his teeth, swaying slightly. He sucks in a breath and turns towards his room. One foot, then the other, he thinks, as he makes it to his room, one step at a time.

oOo

The Avengers get up early, dressed in solemn clothes as they file into the quinjet and prepare to fly out to London. They can’t exactly land at the church, but Tony has cars waiting for them after landing, which drive them the rest of the way.

Steve hadn’t actually been to London since the war, but he doesn’t see much of it as he stares blankly out the windows. Not that it really matters much. All it would show is how much things have changed, and he doesn’t need any extra reminders of that today.

Next to him, Bucky nudges his foot with the toe of his dress shoe, and Steve offers him a half-hearted smile and sits up slightly. “You know,” he says, clearing his throat as the first few words come out a little rough. “This is actually the second funeral you’ve attended with me.”

Bucky’s hair sways as he nods, and Steve flicks his eyes over the half-pony tail his friend had put in for the occasion. “Your Ma,” the man says quietly. “I remember.”

Steve swallows and looks down at the tops of his knees. He wonders how many more funerals like this he will have to attend. If he really doesn’t age, thanks to the serum, then he could conceivably have to bury every one of the Avengers.

I suppose there is an irony in not having to bury Bucky any time soon, he thinks darkly, the car turning and pulling up to stop in front of the church, the old stone building casting a shadow of them as they open the doors and step out onto the sidewalk.

The summer air is already starting to warm up the day, and Steve sucks in a breath as he straightens his suit jacket and swallows, his eyes glancing warily over the stonework, knowing what is waiting for him inside. Behind him, Bucky and Sam get out of the car and come to stand next to him, Sam glancing over him once, before reaching up to grasp his shoulder comfortingly.

“The wake is inside, yeah?” he asks, the question probably more to give him something to focus on and a direction to go in, rather than for actual information.

Steve nods gratefully and looks over at Bucky as the rest of the Avengers pull up in their cars. He, Bucky, and Tony are the only ones invited to the wake, so the three of them split off as they step inside, the Avengers going into the chapel to wait, while they go in to see the body.

He isn’t prepared for any of it.

He isn’t prepared for the room of people, some of them crying, some of them chatting quietly as a piano player in the corner plays a soft tune over everything. He isn’t prepared for the crowd of people from Peggy’s life that he hardly knows, and he isn’t prepared for her body in a casket.

He steps towards it, only vaguely aware of Bucky and Tony at his side as his eyes jump up to Peggy’s pale face, her eyes closed peacefully as her long grey hair sits in waves over her blue burial dress. She looks so still, so quiet and empty, and it’s so wrong to see her this way. The Peggy he had known had always been full of life, even in her old age, even as her mind had faded, she’d always—

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until he sucks in a gasp of air and finds his face wet, his vision blurry as Bucky comes up behind him to wrap an arm around his shoulder. He wipes at his face with a shaking hand, but more tears keep coming, his breath rattling around in his throat as he looks over Peggy.

He hasn’t had to do this before, not in years. He wasn’t there to bury any of his friends. He’d woken up, and they had all been dead, but he hadn’t had to bury them. Even Bucky, they hadn’t had a proper funeral for, but now he is standing in a room full of mourners, people from Peggy’s life that he hadn’t been around to know, and Peggy herself is old and empty and dead and he can’t seem to stop crying.

There are chairs set up in a few rows throughout the room, and Bucky leads him over to one, settling them both down as Steve breathes in and leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees as Bucky rubs his back.

His tears slow after a few minutes, and he knows his eyes are red as he wipes them, sniffing a little as he looks up to watch Tony still standing by the casket, the man’s hand on the rim as he stares down at Peggy, his eyes too far away to read.

Bucky pulls away slightly as he sits up, and when he looks over, he can see a bit of redness around his friend’s eyes too, the man looking over towards the casket with something almost wistful in his gaze.

“I wish I remembered her better,” he admits softly, his throat flexing as he swallows. “I remember, but it feels disconnected sometimes, and I wish…”

He trails off, but he doesn’t have to finish for Steve to understand. He breathes in and wipes his face again, letting out a sigh as he leans into Bucky’s shoulder and waits for Tony to come over. Tony looks unnaturally still by the casket, and Steve wonders if he had had a chance to visit Peggy before she had died. They had all been so busy with the fallout from their mission, that he can’t be sure.

He hopes so, even if Peggy had started to recognise him as Howard near the end.

That’s what dementia does, is all Tony had said about it. It makes people confused about the timeline. The kid she knows can’t be my age, so she sees me as Howard.

And she had seen him and Bucky as dead.   

He shakes his head a little to get rid of the depressing thought and watches as Tony turns away from the casket and steps towards them, his hand coming up just briefly to dab at his eyes. He isn’t crying when he reaches them, and Steve doesn’t think that he had been before, but one look into his eyes makes it clear that that isn’t much of an indicator for his feelings.

Tony sits down next to them with a sigh, and they watch quietly as a new group of mourners come up to stand by the casket. An old woman that Steve doesn’t know leans towards Peggy, her silver hair in loose ringlets, reminding him of how Peggy had used to wear her hair. His ears are sensitive enough to hear her whisper the words “Oh, English,” to her, and he turns his head away in an attempt to give her some privacy.

“It just doesn’t really feel real,” he hears Tony mutter next to him, and he turns to him, the man’s eyes still on the casket, his hands clasped between his knees. “She was always there, you know? Even when I was going off the rails, she’d just—”

He swallows heavily and Steve nods, blinking away a fresh sheen of tears as he thinks over all of Peggy’s accomplishments. She had lived through the aftermath of the war, and had fought to make the world a better place, and he wishes he could have known her then. He wishes he could have seen it.

They sit in silence after that, waiting in painful solidarity while mourners come to visit Peggy one last time. He is certain people recognise them, but he is grateful that for the most part, nobody walks up to them and attempts to engage with their superhero personalities.

He doesn’t want to be Captain America right now. Not at Peggy’s funeral. Thankfully, the other mourners seem to respect that.  

There is movement up at the front of the room, and he looks up as an usher steps in, his gloved hands clasped respectfully in front of him. “The service will be starting soon,” he says gently. “If those who were asked to be pallbearers could come forward, we will start the procession to the chapel.”

Steve and Bucky stand up as Tony as the other guest start to gather themselves, and a set of ushers step forward to prepare the casket. Steve finds his breath catching again as the lid closes over Peggy and the Union Jack is draped over it, but he doesn’t cry.

He doesn’t cry, and he focuses on that as he and Bucky, and the other four people chosen as pallbearers step forward and take up positions along the coffin. Bucky stands behind him as they simultaneously reach for the casket, lifting it off of the wheel bier and settling it on their shoulders.

He can’t decide if it feels heavy or light. It is heavy with the weight of what it means, but it is far too light to be holding all that is left of such an important person.  

 His throat is tight and swollen as he begins the slow march to the chapel, and he can hear the other mourners behind him as they assemble and begin to follow a few paces back, but he mostly just tries to stay focused on putting one foot in front of the other and in keeping his vision from blurring.

There is a children’s choir singing beautifully once he reaches the chapel, and he keeps his eyes down as he walks forward, unable to look at the crowds of mourners filling the room. The chapel is full of people Peggy had loved and touched throughout her life, but he hardly knows any of them. He hadn’t been there to know them, and there is a spot in his chest that feels empty and aching at the life he had missed out on here.

There is another wheel bier waiting for them at the front of the chapel, and Steve and the others carefully set down the casket, before they step away and move to be seated along with the rest of the family.

Bucky’s elbow brushes his as he steps closer, and Steve looks up to see the Avengers all seated together in a bench a few feet away. He follows Bucky over, and soon finds himself seated between him and Sam, the two of them leaning subtly into his shoulders as he sucks in a tight breath and looks down into his lap.

Up front, the priest addresses the crowd, introducing the first speaker, someone named Sharon Carter, and Steve knows that Tony must have been ushered away to await his turn to speak. He presses his thumbs together and swallows. In a way, he is glad that it had been Tony who had been asked to speak, and not him. He wouldn’t have been able to do Peggy justice. All he would have been able to talk about would have been her past, not her life—

Next to him, Sam suddenly nudges him, and Steve looks up, his gaze catching on the face of “Sharon Carter”, AKA Agent 13, his SHIELD neighbor from D.C, standing at the podium. He stares, and up front, Sharon breathes in.

“Margaret Carter was known to most as a founder of SHIELD,” she starts, before her eyes flicker down for a second. “But I just knew her as Aunt Peggy.”

Shock spikes through his system and Steve takes in a breath, his mind spinning. How had he not realised—? Of course he had heard Peggy talk about her great-niece Sharon, but he hadn’t connected the dots. He had never even known what Sharon’s last name had been.

Up on the podium, Sharon continues, and Steve tries not to get overwhelmed by the sheer amount of Peggy’s life that he had missed. “She had a photograph in her office,” the woman continues. “Aunt Peggy standing next to JFK. As a kid, that was pretty cool. But it was a lot to live up to.” Her eyes flick to Steve’s for a second, and he blinks. “Which is why I never told anyone we were related.”

Steve’s mouth twitches and he drops his head, glad at least, that his ignorance hadn’t been entirely his fault. Sharon continues to speak of Peggy’s inspiring words, and out of the corner of his eye, he catches Natasha sitting with glistening eyes. He watches her for a moment, before mentally trying to calculate dates. He can’t remember for sure when Peggy had retired from SHIELD… but looking at Natasha, he wonders if the two women had ever met in that capacity.

He looks up as Sharon makes her closing remarks and steps down, the priest quietly announcing Tony as the next speaker. He watches as the man steps up to the podium, and he offers him a flicker of a smile when the man glances over, his hands fluttering up to straighten his tie once, before he turns to address the crowd.

“I knew Margret as Aunt Peggy too,” he starts off quietly. “Of course, she wasn’t really my aunt.” He offers the audience a crooked smile, his eyes bright as he teeters back and forth between a mourning friend, and the Tony Stark from TV. His smile softens slightly, and he looks down, breathing in. “She was my godmother,” he continues. “And I was lucky to have her.”

He lets out a small huff and shakes his head, his eyes darting up. “Anyone who knew Peggy, knew that she had a spark to her. She wasn’t afraid to put you right when you were wrong…” He trails off and swallows, his hand up reaching to grab the podium. “But she also knew when to believe in people. She had a belief that could move mountains, and a will that could finish the job if she had to do it herself.”

Tony’s eyes flick over the crowd, and his chin raises. “Aunt Peggy believed in a better world,” he says quietly. “And she inspired those around her to reach for it.”

Tony’s eyes meet his for a moment, and Steve thinks that, in a way, they are both trying to follow Peggy’s example.  

After the service, he and Bucky help to carry the coffin out to the hearse, and they drive along with the funeral procession out to the burial ground, walking slowly with the others as they carry her to her final resting place.

He knows the preacher speaks a few words, but he doesn’t hear much of them, his gaze mostly fixed on the plaque bearing Peggy’s name, the brass lettering nowhere close to being able to encompass everything she was.

The Avengers stay standing with him once the body is lowered down into the grave, and groups of mourners stand around as they talk quietly to each other, a few coming up to Tony to thank him for his words and share small stories with him about his godmother.

Too soon, the man has to pull away from them, and he steps up to stand next to him, his eyes on Peggy’s grave. “The meeting in Vienna is soon,” he says lowly, his eyes glancing up to Steve. “You don’t have to come, you know. It’s alright if you want to stay.”

Steve sucks in a breath and wipes a hand over his face. “No,” he says, shaking his head and looking over at Tony, his shoulders squaring determinedly. “I’ll come. I want to support you guys through this, even if I’m not signing. I think we need to show a united front, show that the Avengers go beyond just the Accords.”

Tony nods as he looks over, and Steve can't help noting the tired lines on his face. The pacing of the last few days has been tough on them all, and while Steve knows that the UN couldn’t have foreseen Peggy’s death, he still can’t help being a little annoyed at them that they have to deal with both the Accords and Peggy’s funeral at the same time.

The UN could have definitely given them the Accords a bit earlier, although he imagines there are very definite reasons why they hadn't.

It can’t be helped though, and he turns away with the Avengers, heading out to their cars so that they can be driven back out to the waiting quinjet. Most of them are coming to the meeting in Vienna, even if they all aren’t signing, but they leave Bruce behind as they board, the man choosing to stay in London rather than get any closer to Ross than he has to.

“I’d come with you if I could,” he says, as he waits by the cars. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Steve finds he can’t blame him at all for that, and he offers a Bruce small smile and a final wave before they get ready to lift off.

The trip to Vienna is short, and mostly silent, besides a few murmured conversations here and there about Peggy, and sometimes the Accords. They don’t have time to change out of their mourning clothes before the meeting – although Steve finds the fact morbidly appropriate – and they are soon landing in the designated hanger outside a United Nations building.

There is a car waiting for them as they disembark, and Steve breathes in, trying to settle himself as they get in. No matter his turmoil about Peggy’s death, and the splitting of the Avengers thanks to the Accords, he needs to box it up right now and put it away for later. Right now, he wants to present a united front with the Avengers, despite their individual decisions in regards to the Accords.

Right now, the world needs Captain America, and he can feel his gaze sharpening and his shoulders squaring as he pulls a blanket over his emotions and settles into the role.

His resolve gets tested almost immediately though.

The car drives them through a crowded street of news reporters, before stopping in front of a tall skyscraper and letting them off to be checked through security. It should be relatively simple, but they run into trouble almost instantly.

To get in the building, they are directed to step through a metal detector, the agent at the desk scanning them for any possible weapons or other dangerous items. Coming straight off of a funeral, Steve doesn’t have much on him besides his dress clothes, and he steps through easily, the other Avengers following behind him one by one.

And then Bucky tries to step through.

“What do you mean he can’t come in?” Steve finds himself asking, his voice sharp, his head darting over to the agent as his hands clench in irritation and surprise. The man at the desk looks back at him undisturbed.

“Like I said, sir,” he repeats pointedly, annoyance flickering over his face. “I can’t let him in with that arm. It’s an unknown. I can’t let any weapons inside.”

Steve can feel his nails digging into his palms, and his teeth grind together as he glares. “It’s not a weapon,” he gets out, taking a step closer. “It’s a prosthetic. You make everyone remove their prosthetics before they come in here, or just him?”

The agent shakes his head, not backing down. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let him in. It’s protocol.”

Steve scoffs, because he imagines the ‘protocol’ has more to do with Bucky’s previous history with Hydra, rather than the actual metal of his left arm. He finds himself taking another step forward, his patience for the day rather thin – thanks to everything else – and he plants a hand on the desk, leaning forward.

“And if he took it off, then would you—”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts, and Steve looks up, his eyes meeting Bucky’s on the other side of the metal detector. “Steve,” he says again. “It’s fine. I don’t want to take my arm off anyways.” Steve bites his tongue, because it isn’t fine, but he lets Bucky continue. “I’ll just wait for you outside,” he says, his expression practically radiating calm as he defuses the situation. “There’s a park across the street. I’ll be fine.”

Steve closes his eyes and breathes in, feeling almost shaky now, after his initial rush of anger. Today is a stressful day, and he is certain that Bucky can tell how on edge he is, which is probably why he is being so calm about this. He doubts that his friend — or any of the Avengers for that matter — really want an outburst right now, so soon after Peggy’s funeral.

So, he will let it go. Begrudgingly.

“Are you sure?” he asks, opening his eyes.

In front of him, Bucky nods, shrugging his shoulder. “I’m not an Avenger anyways,” he says, offering Steve a sliver of a smile. “And now I get to miss out on a boring meeting.” 

Steve huffs out a breath at that and drops his head before giving a final nod. “Alright,” he agrees reluctantly, looking back up at Bucky and taking a step back from the desk. “See you soon.”

Bucky’s smile turns into a smirk. “If you’re lucky,” he replies, and Steve can’t help smiling at that before he turns away to the Avengers.

He can tell from the expressions on their faces that they aren’t exactly impressed with what had just happened, and he hears Tony mutter under his breath something about his previous arc reactor and the protocol’s application, but he breathes in and tries to move on, turning to follow their waiting aid up to the meeting room.

They are guided into an elevator, and he stands at attention inside, breathing in, and then letting it out again.

He can deal with today’s frustrations after the meeting. Once the meeting is over he will have time to rant about everything to his heart’s content – likely to Jason at some point – and, he will see if he can figure out how to file a complaint against the UN, because screening prosthetics is an absolutely ridiculous and harmful protocol.

He tries to push it from his mind though — if only to remain calm — as the UN staffer leads them out of the elevator and into a large meeting room. His eyes dart around in a perimeter scan, noting the rows of desks in a half circle, facing a podium at the front of the room. There are already a few dozen people milling around when they arrive, and he is reminded all over again of the sheer number of countries that will be ratifying these Accords.

He thinks of some of the things stipulated by the Accords, and he swallows, dragging his eyes away and turning to follow the aid as they are shown to their seats.

The meeting hasn’t started yet, so they don’t have to sit down right away, and he finds himself standing and watching as the Avengers spread among the crowd. Rhodey seems to know some of the people in the room, and he and Tony get roped into talking with them, while Clint and Sam seem to make it their mission not to do that, and end up shuffling off to the side, leaving Steve to stand with Natasha.

“How are you doing?” she asks him, leaning just slightly towards him and keeping her voice low, her eyes scanning over the room.

Steve rolls his shoulders in a shrug, and clasps his hands in front of himself, his eyes glancing over to the tall glass windows at the front of the room. He wonders if the park Bucky had mentioned is visible from here.

His lips purse for a second as he remembers why Bucky is currently not here, and he looks back at Natasha. “I’ll be happy when this is over,” he responds tiredly. Her mouth twitches for a moment in agreement, before her attention gets drawn away by an approaching delegate, a Black man dressed in a sharp looking suit.

“I suppose neither of us are used to the spotlight,” the man says in a deep voice, his eyes skating over them as he comes to stand in front of them. For his part, it takes Steve a moment to place the man, since he hadn't bothered to memorise the invite list, but it doesn’t take long for him to connect the man to King T’Chaka, whom he had seen on TV recently.

This, he realises, must be the man’s son, prince T’Challa.

He nods at him in respect, and T’Challa and Natasha make small conversation about the Accords for a while as they wait for the meeting to start. “I wouldn’t think you would be particularly comfortable in this company,” the man says, looking at her.

Natasha’s mouth quirks upwards, although her expression still retains a level of diplomatic neutrality. “Well,” she says. “I’m not.”

T’Challa smiles at that. “That alone makes me glad you’re here, Miss Romanoff.”

Steve blinks in surprise at the comment and he leans forward. “Why?” he asks. “You don’t approve of this?”

T’Challa turns to him and flicks his eyes minutely around the room. “The Accords, yes,” he says. “The politics, not really.” His eyes meet Steve. “Two people in a room can get more done than a hundred.”

Before Steve can respond, a new voice cuts in, and he turns to see the king of Wakanda stepping up to stand next to them. “Unless you need to move a piano,” he says, and, despite everything, Steve finds his mouth twitching upwards at the comment.

T’Challa greets his father warmly, and the king soon turns to them, meeting their gaze as he greets them both. “Miss Romanoff, Captain Rogers.”

“King T’Chaka,” Steve replies, nodding his head in respect, his stomach churning slightly as he thinks of why the man is here. “Please, allow me to apologise for what happened in Nigeria.”

“Thank you,” King T’Chaka replies, his voice resonating deeply. “And thank you for coming here today. I am sad to hear that you will not be signing with us today.”

Steve swallows. “No,” he says, before opening his mouth to explain. “It’s not that I don’t believe there should be regulations,” he says, because the last thing he wants is for the king to believe that he doesn’t regret the deaths in Nigeria, and that he doesn’t think that something should be done. “I just don’t feel comfortable with how these ones are playing out.”

Before King T’Chaka can respond, someone calls for them to be seated and for the assembly to begin. The man smiles at them briefly as he bids them goodbye, and Steve soon finds himself seated between Tony and Natasha, the room quieting as they settle in to listen to the opening remarks, presented by the king of Wakanda himself.

The king steps up to the podium, his figure backlit by the vast windows behind him as he places his hands on the stand and leans into the microphone. He is obviously a seasoned public speaker, and he starts off on the topic of Wakandian vibranium, its dangerous potential, and the efforts to steal it.

Steve doesn’t know much about Wakanda – in the news it is mostly portrayed as a poor country, with a nearly depleted resource of vibranium – but even so, king T’Chaka seems very determined to handle it responsibly, which Steve has to respect.  

Off to the side, T’Challa stands by the windows, his hands clasped in front of himself as he listens to his father recount the disaster in Lagos. “Those men and women killed in Nigeria, were part of a goodwill mission from a country too long in the shadows,” he says, looking through his glasses onto the crowd. “We will not, however, let misfortune drive us back. We will fight to improve the world we wish to join.”

The man’s eyes land on the row of chairs containing the Avengers and Steve breathes in, wishing that he trusted the Accords more, and that he could be happy about this development. “I am grateful to the Avengers for supporting this initiative,” the king continues, and out of the corner of his eye, Steve spots T’Challa, glancing out the window, the man seeming to spot something down on the ground.

Up front, the king continues speaking to the crowd. “Wakanda is proud to extend its hand in peace.”

Next to him, Natasha twitches as T’Challa steps away from the windows, and in slow motion, Steve watches as he turns to them, his eyes wide as he makes to sprint towards his father, his voice high with panic. “Everybody get down!”

The words rocket out of his mouth, and Steve’s heartrate doubles as T’Challa makes a desperate leap for his father— and every window in the room blows inward.

Chapter Text

Years of military service and training send Steve ducking the moment T’Challa’s warning leaves his mouth. His hands reach for Tony as he dives, and he yanks them both down under the table, his breath catching in his chest as he rolls on top of him. Half-a-second later and the world erupts into chaos, a shockwave blasting through the room as a wave of heat rolls over them and glass shards fly in every direction.

Steve winces and braces himself, pain pulsing through his head as he covers Tony, his sensitive ears ringing as the blast rips through the room. Screams, and the sound of a fireball dance at the edge of his hearing, but the noise remains far away, seemingly underwater. He grits his teeth and shakes his head, knowing that it will be a few moments before the serum will manage to heal his ears from the effects of the explosion.

He doesn’t wait that long though, adrenaline shooting through his body as he shakes off bits of glass from his hair and shoulders and sits up. The air is hazy with smoke, and next to him, he can see Tony reaching into his suit jacket to pull out a pair of glasses, the frames lighting up as he puts them on, his mouth moving with words that Steve can’t hear. He leaves Tony to it and turns to reach for where Natasha is crouched next to him, her body hunched over the man who had been sitting next to her.

“Start clearing the room!” he shouts at her, moving to push himself up, his eyes watering as he coughs against the smoke and scans the now empty windows— instinctively searching for any signs of another attack.

The room in front of him is a mess. Smoke and ash fill the air, blurring his vision as he glances over the bits of glass, chunks of concrete and shattered wood that sit scattered among the panicking people. He blinks, and he can see them scrambling over each other, but it seems far away, their sounds one loud, useless blur. He shakes his head and glances over to the front of the room, his eyes darting over to a lone figure sitting motionlessly in the middle of the floor.

Noise screeches and rings in his ears as they begin to heal and he bites back a wince, instead turning towards Tony and scanning the room for the rest of his team. “Help evacuate!” he orders, brushing more glass off his shoulder and trying to calculate how likely it is that a second explosion will occur.

His mind spins, his breath irregular as his ears echo strangely. He needs to focus. He needs to try to prioritise and calculate his team’s current danger. How structurally sound is the building? Where is the fire? How many people are injured? How many are dead? How far off are emergency services? Who can they save?

The questions buzz through his mind as his team shakily spreads out to help control the frantic terror in the room, and Steve’s ears screech one last time, before finally popping and letting the room’s sound in with a roar.

He grimaces at the familiar assault and he squints through the smoke as he looks towards the figure he had noticed earlier at the front of the room. His eyes water, but his heart drops as he realises who, and what it is.

It is T’Challa, the man grief stricken and clutching at his father, the king lying motionless on the ground. Steve’s breath catches as he steps forward, half-crouching instinctively in case of another attack, his eyes pinned on T’Challa as he drags himself around the twisted remains of a desk, his feet slipping on charred debris and broken glass as he makes his way over to the pair.

T’Challa is weeping when he reaches him, and Steve’s heart twists in his chest as he looks them over. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice grating roughly in his throat, thanks to the smoke. “I’m sorry.” He glances up at the windows and then back down. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “But we have to go. We have to go now.”

T’Challa looks up at him and says something in a language that he can’t understand, but this is not the first time that he has been forced to deal with a language barrier and grieving blast victims. “I’m sorry,” he says again, coughing into the sleeve of his jacket, the screams from behind them and the approaching sirens from the street below grating on his ears. “We have to leave. The building isn’t safe, we have to go.”

He reaches for T’Challa and the man pulls away. For a second Steve worries the man might resist him, but instead he watches as he reaches for his father’s hand, and pulls off a thick silver ring from his finger. His hands shake slightly as he clutches it in his fist, his breath catching as he carefully lowers his father to the ground, his eyes shifting into a familiar traumatized blankness as he moves to crawl away.

Steve’s lips press together and he coughs against the smoke again as he shifts to lead them both away, his mind compartmentalising things left and right as he tries to deal with only the most immediate problems in front of him.

His main goal is to leave the room right now and keep other people from dying. He will deal with the destruction and death later.

T’Challa remains half-crouched and silent with him as they make it across the room. He would have liked to stay with him, but they get separated once he is called away to free a woman who had gotten her foot trapped in the remains of a desk. The woman is panicked and hysterical, and he loses track of T’Challa as he helps carry her out of the building. The brightness of the sun is an affront to his eyes, and he can't help wincing as he squints and stumbles forward, Sam coming up to direct him to a makeshift triage station being set up outside.

“Medics are here, firefighters are on their way,” he says with a familiar soldier-like efficiency, his face and clothes covered in ash as he flicks his eyes over him. “And your ears are bleeding.”

Right. His ears. “They’re healed now,” he reports back, his eyes focused on the medics as he hands the woman off to be looked at.

Sam wants him to stay and get checked out, but he refuses. “It’s healed,” he says firmly. “You know this has happened before. Other people need medical more than me.” Sam doesn’t look too happy about that, but he has more experience with explosions and his enhanced hearing than him, so he steps away from the med station and sets out to try to find the rest of his team.

In all honesty, he would rather his ears were still deaf, because, with how on edge he is, he is having trouble controlling their focus. The whole of the emergency scene seems to drill deeper and deeper into his head— the screaming people, the shouting of emergency workers, the spray of water and the beat of helicopter blades as people rush to control the fire, the screeching of tires, the barking of police dogs, even the beating of his own heart seems to sound loudly in his ears.

“Steve?”

Oh.

Clint is next to him, and Steve can only hum in response, the sound of the man’s pulse next to him almost deafening. He grits his teeth and tries to take control. This is not his first disaster, he has dealt with the noise before, but he is tired, and emotionally drained and everything is too loud.

He hardly even registers as Clint grabs him and starts to lead him off to a quieter corner of the square, settling him down on a bench as he works on breathing evenly and keeping a grounding grasp on his other senses.

Clint’s hand on his shoulder helps a little, although he can’t help being aware of every bit of dirt and grime grating on his skin, and sitting in the folds of his suit, and in the strands of his hair. His nails dig into his palms as he sucks in a breath and fights the useless urge to try to brush it all away.

“The lines are too jammed up to try to call Bucky,” Clint tells him, his voice thankfully at a whisper. “The rest of us are helping with the clean up. You just sit here and wait for your ears to calm down.”

Steve hums again and gives in to leaning forward and pressing his hands to his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as he continues to breathe in carefully. Once he calms down, he knows that his ears will settle as well, he knows he just needs to relax and ground himself, but the technique is a little hard to do when every sound puts him on edge.

He just needs to breathe. Focus. What was Jason’s technique? The five grounding senses. Five, four, three, two, one. Over and over again. Five, four, three, two, one.

He isn’t sure how long it takes, but when he sits up again, his ears have settled slightly, and the immediate chaos has died down. His ears are sharp enough still that he can hear Sharon’s voice behind him, and he turns to spot her walking purposely among a group of agents, spouting out orders about containment and investigation.

The sight of her is actually a relief, since he knows he can trust her to do her job properly, and he sucks in a slow breath, blinking his eyes a few times as he becomes more aware of his other surroundings. The street is still bustling with activity, but there is a stillness next to him, and he turns his head to see T’Challa sitting on a bench next to him, a few cuts on his face as he sits with a familiar thousand-yard stare.

Steve swallows, his throat still dry from smoke as he tries to figure out what to say. This part is never easy. “I’m very sorry,” he says lowly.

The man’s eyes dart to him, his father’s ring in one hand and his phone in the other. “Perhaps, you have not seen the news, Captain,” he says, something sharp underlining his words as his hand tightens on his phone. “It is not you, who needs to be sorry.”

Steve’s brow furls in confusion, but a cry from behind him has him turning his head before he can say anything in return.

“Steve!” Bucky’s voice is achingly welcome after everything, and his eyes dart over to where his friend is weaving his way through emergency workers, his rumpled suit flapping behind him as he runs, his face pale with worry.

Next to him, T’Challa tenses slightly, but Steve is too distracted by the sight of his friend to pay it any mind. Bucky’s eyes are wide and searching as he approaches, and Steve finds himself standing as he reaches him, his hands reaching for Bucky’s as his friend stumbles to a halt and runs his hands over his dirty suit in a search for injuries, his mouth running a mile-a-minute.

“Are you alright?” he bursts out, his eyes skating over him in a frantic scan. “I saw the explosion from the park, but I couldn’t call you – the lines were overwhelmed – and they were setting up a barricade perimeter and I couldn’t find any of the Avengers and they were trying not to let people in, but there was so much smoke and they were saying a bomb went off, but they wouldn’t say if anyone was injured.” His eyes catch onto his ears and Bucky frowns. “Your ears are bleeding, what happened?”

Steve sucks in a shaky breath at the presence of his friend and he shakes his head, his hands reaching up to grasp at Bucky’s elbows. “The blast damaged my ears,” he says roughly. “Remember how it used to be with grenades? It’s fine now, it heals quickly.”

Bucky frowns and opens his mouth to say something, but gets interrupted by the sound of pounding feet, and they both look over as Tony comes rushing up to them, his face pale and his phone in his hand, his glasses still flickering on his face. “Steve, there you are,” he bursts out in a rush, panting slightly from his run as his eyes dart between him and Bucky. “JARVIS just said— —Have you checked the news—?"

He gets cut off and his head darts up at the cry of, “There he is!”, and suddenly Steve is surrounded by a crowd of armed CIA agents, the menacing group of visored men encircling all three of them as they draw their weapons.

His heart leaps into his throat, and he finds himself instinctively shoving Bucky behind him, the man spinning around to watch his back, his heartbeat clear as day as Steve darts his eyes around the agents cornering them.

He can feel his grip on the careful stability he had been working on slip, the present danger the only thing keeping him from falling into full-blown panic. He can feel it though, on the edges of his mind, tugging at him as the world falls to pieces.

He tries to push it back. He needs to breathe. He needs to think. He needs to find out what is going on. One step at a time. One step at a time.

“What is going on?” he snaps out, his voice hard to cover his growing fear. His hands curl into fists to keep them from shaking, and his heart pounds painfully in his chest, his shoulders hunching instinctively as he settles down into a fighting stance, his breath thin and shallow. “What are you doing?”

Next to him, Tony swallows and clutches his phone tighter, his eyes darting uneasily between him and the armed men surrounding them. “Steve, they think—”

Behind them, T’Challa stands, and when Steve glances at him, his eyes are burning, his gaze staring right into Bucky. “That man,” he bites out, his voice rock-hard, “murdered my father. They have his image on the security cameras. He set off the bomb.”

Steve’s blood freezes, and he stares at T’Challa opened mouthed, his mind spinning, completely unable to comprehend even a single word of his speech. Behind him, Bucky’s heartbeat increases in pace and his shoulders press back into his, the line of his spine tense and anxious.

“W–what are you talking about?” he hears him say, his voice tight and strained. “I wasn’t even there. I was in the park. I was planning to go to the meeting today, why would I—”

He pulls back, and Steve moves with him as the agents beside Bucky tighten the circle. The world blurs, and he can feel his vision tunneling as he tries to get a grasp on the situation, his capacity for dealing with disasters running short after everything else.

In front of him, a lead agent flicks up his visor and steps forward, drawing his gaze. “Sergeant Barnes is the primary suspect to the attack,” he states calmly, and Steve can feel Bucky shudder at the words. “He is under arrest.”

The agent flicks his gaze between Steve and Tony, his eyes hard and uncompromising. “If you resist, we will arrest you too.”

Steve can hear Bucky breathing quietly behind him, and he can’t keep his hands from shaking anymore as the world unravels around him. This— this on top of everything else— “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says thinly, his eyes darting around the group. “I know Bucky didn’t do it. You can’t just—"

He cuts off as, behind him, he can feel Bucky shift, something settling as he breathes in. He can feel his shoulders straightening against his, and his breath stalls as he realises a second too late what is going to happen. The men around them tense, as though they expect Bucky to attack… but he knows better than that.

“Alright,” he hears him say quietly. “Alright, we’ll go.”

Steve’s chest squeezes and he whips around to find Bucky standing with his hands raised, his gaze a mask of calm, even if his heartbeat doesn’t reflect it at all. No, he thinks desperately, his eyes darting around the circle of agents. No, this is so wrong.

His breath shakes slightly as he stares wide-eyed at Bucky, the heartbeats getting loud in his ears again. “Buck—”

“We can’t win this if we turn it into a fight,” Bucky says low and quick, his eyes on the men in front of him. “We’ll figure it out. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay! he thinks frantically as Tony edges a step closer to him, anxious lines deepening on his face as he glances over the scene and up to T’Challa a few times. Next to him, Bucky swallows and darts his eyes over to Tony, his gaze flicking once to him, before going back to Tony.

“You watch him, Tony. Ya hear?” he says in a low voice, his gaze remaining steady.

Tony's face is pale and drawn tight as he gives him a nod, his tongue darting out to lick his lips anxiously. “I hear,” he says roughly, and Steve’s fists clench as he grits his teeth, internally fuming at the helplessness of his situation.

This is so wrong. This— this cannot be happening.

He watches Bucky breathe in once, and even though his heartbeat hasn’t slowed down, he manages to present a calm face to the crowding agents. “Okay,” he says, raising his voice to them. “Okay, I’m coming.”

The agents in front of them remain tense, their weapons drawn and pointed at Bucky, and Steve tries to convince himself that they won’t shoot him without cause. He… he doesn’t feel very convinced as he watches the guns track Bucky’s movements.

“Hands on your head!” one of the men shouts, and Bucky complies, his movements slow and deliberate as he follows the order, otherwise holding perfectly still. “On your knees!” the agent yells next, and Steve’s gut twists at the order, his breath catching as he watches Bucky very carefully lower himself onto the ground, the agents’ weapons following him all the way down.

Something grabs at the sleeve of his suit jacket, and he turns to see Tony reaching for him, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he watches the scene. “We’ll figure it out,” he tells him in quiet rushed tones. “I’ve already got Pepper and her lawyers on the line, we’ll figure it out.”

Glancing over at the smoldering stare of T’Challa, Steve isn’t certain that that will be enough. He looks back as the agents order Bucky to lay on his stomach, and soon one of them is on top of him, his knee pressing into Bucky’s back as he jerks his arms up behind him to be cuffed.

They don't have to be this rough. They don’t have to make Bucky lay on the ground – he would have gone quietly with them, he isn’t fighting them – and Steve can feel his anger rising the longer it goes on, his jaw aching with how tight he is holding it.

Next to him, Tony’s fingers whiten on his sleeve, and when he glances back, he finds Tony’s face hard and pale with fury as well. That helps, somehow, and he breathes in, his hands shaking again as he tries to get control of his racing thoughts.

He knows why Bucky is doing this. He knows trying to fight right now will only make things worse. But he hates it so much.

Back on the ground, the agents finish cuffing Bucky and force him to his feet. Steve watches with clenched teeth and a tense jaw, his lips hurting with hard he is pressing them together. He breathes in, and he is certain Tony can feel him vibrating with pent up emotion at the scene.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sharon approaching, and he spins around to face her, his jacket slipping out of Tony’s grasp as his tongue presses hard against his teeth. “What is going to happen now?” he asks sharply, doing his best not to glare at her (he is pretty sure he fails).

Sharon’s eyes flick over him, and he can see the well-concealed shades of sadness in her gaze. “He will be transported to a secure CIA bunker in Berlin,” she tells him quietly. “This location is compromised.”

Steve flicks his eyes over to the blackened, burned-out building beyond, and he grits his teeth. “Alright,” he says, looking back at her. “But I’m coming too.” He isn’t really sure if he has any legal right to come, but he is also pretty sure that there isn’t anything legally stopping him right now either. In front of him, Sharon presses her lips together but doesn’t argue.

“I am coming too,” T’Challa’s deep voice cuts in, his eyes still pinned to Bucky and the guards. “You will forgive me if I place more faith in my justice, than yours.”

Sharon’s face tightens slightly but her expression remains professional. “I am sorry for the loss of your father,” she tells him. “We will do our best to figure out what happened.”

T’Challa’s expression clearly states that he already knows enough about what happened to make a judgement, and Steve can’t help thinking back to what he had said about Bucky being caught on the security feed.

How is that possible? he thinks, as the agents in front of him surround Bucky like a swarm of black flies as they prepare to transport him into a waiting van. He and Tony move along with them, a few feet back, and Tony begins to talk to JARVIS through his glasses, trying to get in contact the rest of the Avengers.

Steve shifts to stand at attention, his hands white behind his back, his eyes never leaving Bucky and the security team.

Why was the security feed released to the media so quickly? he thinks, his shoulders achingly stiff, and his eyes hard as he watches Bucky get taken into the armoured vehicle. Everything about it reminds him too much of the vans that Hydra used to have, and Bucky’s eyes meet his once, his mouth twitching up briefly – the move probably less comforting than he would like – before the doors close over him with a deafening slam.

We will figure it out, Tony had said, and Steve grits his teeth. They will figure it out. They will. His eyes flick up to the hulking van again and he swallows, looking over as Tony finishes his call and looks up at him.

“The others know already,” he says quietly. “I told them we’re going to Berlin.” Steve gives a stiff nod and turns to find Sharon. The next step, is figuring out what the plan is for getting them there.

In the end, they don’t bring all the other Avengers with them to Berlin. They are all angry enough, and willing enough, but not only would the CIA probably be against the idea, but the bomb and Bucky’s face on the news had incited a media storm that Natasha is still trying to get a hold on. Besides that, someone needs to stay behind to keep them updated on what will be happening with the Accords now, so she stays to coordinate that, while Clint, Sam and Rhodey stay to assist with clean-up.

“With you and Tony behind him, Bucky has all the help he could possibly need,” Clint tells him as the two of them prepare to leave for Berlin, a UN helicopter on standby for them and T’Challa. “Just bring him back, okay?”

“We will,” Steve says quietly, working to speak past the lump in his throat. “We’ll figure it out.”

oOo

It’s an awkward few hours to Berlin, what with T’Challa right next to him in the helicopter, but Steve finds himself mostly numb to it, his eyes pinned to the window, where he knows Bucky’s transport plane is flying somewhere nearby, Sharon and the rest of the CIA agents guarding him.

He wishes he could have flown in the same plane as Bucky. He wishes they could have stayed in Vienna, with the other Avengers. The others might not have been able to help much with what is going on, but he would feel more comfortable knowing that they were there.

Of course, he probably shouldn’t be surprised that the UN and the CIA want to move them. Right now, Vienna is a hotspot of activity, and they need somewhere safe and secure to begin the process of figuring out what had actually happened.

Not that he thinks the UN is too worried about that, in their eyes, they have already caught the culprit.

But why was Bucky targeted? he thinks, his eyes on the clouds as they pass. Who even knows he is alive to use?

Because that must be what is happening. Someone is framing Bucky, for reasons unknown. But… until now, his survival hadn’t been made known to the general public. Various governments and the UN know, of course, but the fact hadn’t been publicised.

We’ll figure it out, he thinks firmly to himself. We will figure it out.

The only reason Bucky is being arrested now is because he is the prime suspect. Once they prove that he is innocent, then he can be let go. And they will prove he is innocent. If nothing else, Tony can send Pepper’s team of lawyers down onto the UN. They will be able to get Bucky back.

Steve’s suit is still grimy from the attack, and after several hours of travel it is beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable, but he ignores it as he disembarks at the landing pad, his eyes drawn immediately to the crowd of security officers on the other side of the tarmac, Bucky’s plane just finishing its own touchdown.  

Nobody stops him as he approaches, and he can feel Tony and T’Challa following him as he steps up to the crowd, sweeping his eyes over the surplus of personnel, Sharon talking to a few soldiers off to the side. His eyes catch on an armoured glass box in the middle of them, and he learns a new reason for why they had transferred Bucky to Germany.

It’s a cage. They’ve built a cage for Bucky, hardly big enough to fit a single chair inside, and his breath catches as he watches Bucky get led out of the plane, a circle of guards around him as they carefully uncuff him and prepare to lock him inside the cell.

The cell has a chair. The cell has a chair with clamps in it that lock over Bucky's shoulders and his arms and Steve is— he’s standing in the Vault, his teeth clenched and his arms folded as Bucky walks towards the chair, his eyes blank. There are Hydra agents everywhere, and he knows they are watching him, seeing how he will react— and he can’t react, or he will blow his cover, but Bucky is sitting down in the chair and the headpieces are rotating around and they’re going to—

He doesn’t even realise he is pushing through the crowd until he’s halfway to Bucky’s cell. “What are you doing?” he gasps out, his eyes skating over the thing as the door is closed over Bucky with a hiss of pressurized air. Behind him, he can feel Sharon and T’Challa watching him, but he only has eyes for the clamps holding down his friend.

Guards move to stand between him and the cell, and he glances up, his gaze bordering on frantic, the heartbeats getting loud again as Bucky’s eyes meet his. His breath catches and his eyes dart over the clamps again, a wave of nausea rising up his throat. “You can’t—”

“Steve,” Bucky speaks up, his voice muffled slightly by the glass. His tone is calm, even though he knows that Bucky’s pulse isn’t at all. Even so, his friend holds his eyes in an even gaze. “Steve it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” he bursts out, because it isn’t, and Bucky shouldn’t be the one comforting him anyways and— and Tony reaches him, his fingers closing over the sleeve of his jacket again, tension lining his face.

“Steve,” he says quietly, his eyes flicking around the room. “Steve, we can’t stop this right now. They’re not hurting him, but they think he’s dangerous. They won’t listen.”

Steve can feel his hands shaking, and he breathes in, his breath tight and strained in his lungs. He knows what Tony is saying is true, he does, but Tony hadn’t been there when Hydra had been trying to fry Bucky’s brains out, he had never seen it, he doesn’t understand—

He sucks in another breath and tries to get his breathing and senses under control, Tony’s grip on his sleeve acting as a grounding beacon as he tries to keep from spiralling.

Nobody is going to listen to you if you’re falling apart, he thinks sharply, his teeth clenching as he draws himself together. He needs to hold it together so that he can help Bucky. He can do that, he just needs to breathe.

He breathes. And then he breathes again. One step at a time, he reminds himself, swallowing heavily.

“Okay,” he gets out finally, his jaw flexing around the rough syllable as he pulls away from the glass case, his sleeve slipping out of Tony’s grip. Inside the cell, Bucky offers him a twitch of a smile, but Steve finds that he doesn’t have it in him to return it, worry and anxiety twisting through his gut as he watches a forklift come up from behind the cell to lift it off the ground.

He grits his teeth and turns to look for Sharon, finding her standing and talking to a grey-haired man in a silver suit. He doesn’t know who the man is, but he looks like a good candidate for ‘person in charge’, and he sets his sights on him, determination folding over his panic from earlier. He can feel T’Challa’s gaze on him as he marches over, but he ignores it, Tony following him as he plants himself in front of Sharon and the man.

“What is going to happen to him now?” he asks pointedly, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the grey-haired man as Tony steps up silently to stand next to him. He stares down at the grey-haired man. He knows the UN and the CIA think that they have already captured their culprit, but he also knows that they haven’t, and he needs to know what their plan is, he needs to make sure that he can have a chance to prove Bucky’s innocence.

The man doesn’t give him much hope for that. “What would have happened before, if he wasn’t with the Avengers,” he says, giving him an unflinching look. “Psychological evaluation and extradition.”

Steve’s jaw clenches at that, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees T’Challa glance over at the mention of extradition. He can feel his blood pressure rise at the unconcerned manner of the man in front of him and his eyes narrow.

Sharon can probably sense his growing ire, and she jumps in to offer a smooth introduction. “This is Everett Ross,” she tells him. “Deputy Task Force Commander.”

Steve nods at her and flicks his eyes over the man, wondering if he is the one behind the cell.

Next to him, Tony shifts and he tilts his head, his shoulders pulling back authoritatively. “What about a lawyer?” he asks.

Ross turns to him and gives a slight shake of his head in disbelief. “Lawyer.” His mouth quirks upward slightly. “That’s funny.”

Steve’s eyes flash, his mouth opening as his patience snaps, his thoughts nearly incomprehensible in his fury. He doesn’t get a chance to unleash it though, because next to him, Tony’s smile turns brittle and his eyes glint. “Ha ha,” he says, his smile still bright and motionless on his face. “Funny how it would be illegal not to have one.”

Ross pauses to glance over him, and Tony flashes his teeth at him. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer soon, I think,” he says, his hands slipping calmly into his pants pockets. “She’ll have something to say.” He lifts his chin. “Now what was this about a psychological evaluation?”

It turns out that as soon as Bucky had been captured, a UN psychologist had been called from Geneva to come evaluate him. “It’s late though,” Ross tells them, his eyes flicking over their ash covered clothes and pausing briefly on Steve’s ears, which he now realises must still have remnants of dried blood on them.

Ross’ gaze travels over to T’Challa and he looks unimpressed by the idea of having any of them in his compound right now. “I doubt he’s even checked into his hotel,” he continues dryly. “We’ll get started in the morning. You can either go find a hotel for yourselves, or, I guess we can find an empty office room for you or something.”

Steve raises his chin, his stomach twisting at the idea of Bucky being in that cramped cell overnight. “I’m not leaving,” he says firmly, and next to him, Tony lets out a quiet sigh, muttering something about the loss of beds under his breath.

Next to him, T’Challa’s voice is low and grim. “Neither am I.”

Ross sighs and glances between them both. “Alright, fine,” he says, waving at them to follow him. “Do me a favour and don’t wander around.”

oOo

Ross at least has the presence of mind to station T’Challa in a different office than the rest of them –even if it is next-door. Their guide leaves them, and Tony steps away, leaving Steve to glance over the empty desk and collection of chairs occupying the room they had been offered, his eyes darting up to the floor-to-ceiling window behind the desk, realising with a start that Ross hadn’t been wrong about it getting late.

The sun is setting, and he lowers himself down onto one of the leather chairs facing the desk, his mind taking a chance to catch up with everything that had happened today. It had been a long day. They had woken up early to go to Peggy’s funeral, and he is still in his funeral clothes, except now he is covered in soot, thanks to a terrorist bomb, and now he is in Germany with Bucky trapped in a cell in a bunker somewhere.

His breath hitches slightly, and he presses his lips together, taking the next several minutes to breathe carefully, grimacing as he runs a hand over his dirty face.

The door swings open behind him, and Tony steps through, looking a bit less rugged than before. “There’s a bathroom down the hall,” he informs him, his phone in hand as he comes to sit down in a chair next to him. Steve lets out a breath and nods, grateful to have something to do for the moment, and glad to have a chance to clean up.

He shrugs off his ruined jacket, and leaves it with Tony in the office as he gets up to head down the hall, his eyes glancing over to the blurred glass wall of T’Challa’s office, a vague, dark shape the only indication of the man’s presence. He sucks in a breath and lets it out again as he walks past. As much as he doesn't want T’Challa to be mad at Bucky, he can’t imagine what the man is going through right now, alone in an office, in another country, only hours after his father’s death.

He doubts his presence would be very comforting to him though, so he continues down to the bathroom and steps in, squinting a little at the bright florescent lights. He catches sight of himself in the mirror for the first time since the attack, and he can’t help grimacing at his bedraggled appearance. Soot sits in his hair line and in the crevices of his skin, and dried blood is flecked around his ears, his own haggard expression finishing off the look.

With a sigh, he steps towards the sink and begins to laboriously wash his face, wetting paper towels to wipe down his neck and arms, before carefully cleaning out his ears. By the end of it, he at least looks clean, if not a little pale, and he cleans up the mess of paper towels before turning to head back to the office where Tony is waiting.

Tony is on the phone when he arrives, and as he listens, he realises that he is on call with Bruce. He can’t stop a wince as he remembers that the man is waiting for them back in London, probably learning of the events in Vienna second-hand through the news. He hopes some of the other Avengers had already called him before now, to at least let him know that they were uninjured by the blast.

“Yeah, we’re doing the best we can,” he hears Tony say as he signs off. “Hopefully we’ll see you soon.”

He pulls his phone away from his ear as the call ends, and Steve moves to go sit in the leather chair next to him. “Is he doing okay?” he asks. “I didn’t even think to call him.”

Tony nods as he puts his phone away. “Yeah,” he says, waving a hand tiredly. “He told me that Clint called him once the lines opened up, he just wanted to check in.”

Steve relaxes at the knowledge that his friend hadn’t been completely left in the dark, and he turns his eyes to the darkening window, wondering if he should somehow try to get some sleep. He will need it for tomorrow, but he is guessing it will be difficult after everything from today. Not to mention that the office isn’t exactly a five-star hotel.

Next to him, Tony shifts, suddenly looking more tired than before. “I actually got another call while I was in the bathroom,” he says, and when Steve looks over at him, his eyes are on the leather armrests of his chair. After a moment, Tony lets out a heavy sigh and glances up at him. “It was Ross. Thaddeus Ross. He wants me to convince you to sign the Accords.”   

Chapter Text

“Ross said the Accords are going to go through,” Tony continues tiredly. “Especially with the bomb, and people thinking it was an enhanced individual who did it…”

He trails off, and Steve glances over him, his eyes flicking over his rumpled suit and exhausted face. He thinks over his words again. He wants me to convince you to sign the Accords. The wording is very important, and Steve can’t help thinking back to when he and Tony had been in a similar position, only opposite.

He can still remember it, years ago now, when he had come to sit with Tony in his room and discuss the fact that Hydra was trying to get his help to build the Helicarriers. Hydra wants me to convince you to build the stuff, he had said, because he wasn’t going to hide where he was getting his orders from.

He had respected Tony enough to give him the whole picture and make his decision that way, and now Tony is doing the same, looking just as tired and drained as he feels right now.

He lets out his own sigh and slouches slightly in his seat. “Did he say why he thought I should sign?” he asks, and Tony runs a hand through his hair, leaning to rest his elbow on the armrest next to him.

“He said it was because if you signed, then Bucky would sign,” he explains quietly. “He told me that if the two of you were Accord-sanctioned, then they might be able to protect you.”

It doesn’t take much thought to tear apart the holes in that logic, and Steve feels a lick of fury rising in his gut at the thought that Ross had seen fit to take this tragedy and use it as a wheedling tactic to pressure him and Bucky.

One look at Tony shows that the man is already mostly on the same page with him, and he lets out an angry sigh. “Even if we did sign,” he says quietly. “The bomb happened before; Ross would have to pull some fancy strings in order to extend his so-called protection that far.”

Not to mention the fact that he has the feeling that T’Challa would not be impressed with that sort of thing. He hasn’t had a chance yet to speak much with the man, but his father’s death is still fresh in his mind, and he had had a deep, sharp look in his eyes that makes him reluctant to cross him.

He shakes his head and looks out towards the window and the night sky beyond. “Even if they could protect Bucky,” he continues, his finger tapping against his armrest. “I don’t think I could sign it. Signing it would just put Bucky and me under their thumb.”

Tony remains silent and Steve swallows as he looks over at him. “You’ve seen how they’ve been treating him. Our powers aren’t something we can just put away. If we sign, there is no way out.”

“I know,” Tony says quietly, his eyes on the skyline. “I’m not asking you to sign.”

Steve closes his eyes and takes in a slow breath. “I know,” he says simply. “And I’m grateful for that Tony. I know—” He shrugs and slumps slightly, opening his eyes. “I know this isn’t easy for any of us right now but…” Tony looks at him, and he offers his friend a small smile. “I will admit that it is a bit of a relief that you signed.”

Tony’s eyes widen as he looks at him, and Steve crosses his legs as he continues. “I couldn’t do it,” he says. “The Accords are— are wrong,” he looks over at Tony. “But like you said, it is probably a good idea to have someone on the inside for these things.”

He looks over to the window and presses his lips together. “These Accords are dangerous,” he continues. “But they are going to go through, no matter what we do.” He breathes in. “So, they need to be watched.” He looks back over. “And I trust you to keep an eye on them Tony. I don’t like the Accords, but it makes me a little more comfortable knowing that you’ll be there to try to keep them in check. We can hope that they won’t be ratified in the States, but like Natasha said, this is going to be a problem for more people than just us.”

Tony’s mouth seems to hang open in surprise for a moment, before he huffs out a breath and shakes his head. “Way to pressure someone, Cap,” he gripes good-naturedly. “Anything else you want while you’re at it? World peace?”

Steve smiles and lets Tony move the subject along. “Yeah, well.” He rubs the back of his neck. “That’ll be a project for later. For now, we just need to work on helping Bucky.”

Tony sobers a little and looks down. “Yeah,” he says slowly, glancing up at Steve. “Bad news on that front. I had JARVIS look into the image of Bucky the media has, and he says it isn’t faked or tampered with… so I asked him to search through the CCTV footage of the park that Bucky was at, so we could get an alibi for him and…” He presses his lips together. “They were all wiped.”

Steve blinks and sits up. “All of them?” he asks in shock.

Tony nods. “Yup. Everything within a five-block radius of the UN building has a good eight hours of time missing, but, not the actual cameras for the building itself. Convenient right?”

Something hollow settles into his stomach and he swallows, looking over at Tony. “What are the odds of the UN accepting that as evidence that someone is trying to frame Bucky?” he asks quietly, his hands moving down to clutch at the fabric of his pants.

Tony’s mouth twists and he looks down. “I’m not sure,” he says. “We’ll have to prove that he wasn’t the one to tamper with the system. You know they know his skillset from Hydra. They’ll be skeptical.” He sees Steve’s expression and leans forward. “But we will be able to,” he says. “This just proves that someone definitely set him up, we just gotta figure out who.”

Steve nods and rubs a hand over his face. “And how his face got on the security feed,” he says tiredly.

Tony’s mouth thins. “Yeah, that too.”

After that they finally get ready to go to sleep. It isn’t exactly a comfortable arrangement, but the office has enough chairs and things that can be pushed together to form makeshift beds for the both of them, and Steve finds he can’t really complain, because as far as he knows, Bucky is spending the night in far less hospitable conditions.

Unfortunately, that thought seems to set the tone for the night.

It's the sound that he hears first – the sound of echoing boots walking on tile – that lets him know where he is. His stomach drops and he looks up in horror to see the familiar yellow tile of the Vault, Bucky’s chair sitting menacingly in the center of the room.

“Alright, let’s get started.”

His head turns at the sound of the rough voice, and he sees a collection of Hydra agents dressed in black gear standing in a cluster near the chair. Instead of Pierce at their head though, he sees the pinched and scarred face of Rumlow, the man’s eyes narrowing as he places his hands on his hips, his foot tapping impatiently.

The tapping echoes sharply around the room, but it isn’t enough to cover the approaching sounds of shuffling feet, and his eyes get drawn to the door, his heart beginning to pound in time with Rumlow’s foot as he watches Bucky get dragged through, his friend’s hair swinging wildly around his face as he grunts and struggles against his guards.

In slow motion, his head swings from Bucky to the chair, and then up to Rumlow, his heart spasming in his chest in panic. “Wait!” he bursts out, making a move towards the man. “What are you doing—?”

Rumlow’s eyes darts to his, a twisted smile growing on his face as Steve’s progress jerks to a halt, hands appearing to wrap around his arms and drag him backwards. He struggles, his head jerking to the side to stare into the expressionless black helmets of the agents around him, his own wide-eyed gaze reflected back at him in their visors.

His head turns to see Bucky being pushed closer to his chair, and he renews his struggles with a desperate vigor, his breath hitching in his lungs as he jerks against the ironclad grip on his arms. He can’t seem to break away though, and pain sparks behind his eyes and his head swims as he is rammed into something hard and metal behind him.

He sucks in a breath and jerks his head to the side, his eyes catching sight of an old but eerily familiar length of metal casing. All at once he realises where he is, and his struggles intensify as he is held down.

He is in the capsule Howard had made for when they had injected him with the serum, he is in the machine and— and the metal creaks as the doors to the pod whirl to life and begin to close over him.

“Wait!” he shouts again, grunting as he tries to escape the closing doors, only to get shoved back down again. Across the room, Rumlow’s eyes continue to stare into his, and through the last few inches of space left between the doors, he catches sight of Bucky being shoved into the chair.

“No!” he screams as the pod seals around him, confining him into the narrow space. His hands lift without thought, and his fists sting as he pounds on the metal casing, his ears buzzing as the machine hums around him. His breath catches and his stomach drops with sudden trepidation as he realises that this is going to hurt a lot—

He jolts awake and his hand hits the edge of the armrest of his chair as he jerks, his face peeling away from the leather as his breath catches. The pain in his hand helps him wake up further and he blinks, sucking in a frantic breath as he pulls his hand to his chest, his eyes darting around the room in an instinctual perimeter scan. He is too flustered to actually register what he is seeing though, and he sits up in one bleary movement, swaying slightly as he swings his legs off of the double-chair setup he had been sleeping on.

It is morning now, and he squints at the light shining in through the office window, the surrounding buildings now visible. The light is in direct contrast to that of his dream, and he lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he becomes more aware. A sound to his right sends his eyes darting over, and he realises suddenly that Tony is still in the room with him, the man sitting on his own makeshift bed, his wrinkled suit probably looking no better than his own.

There is absolutely no way he could have missed how he had woken up.

His cheeks heat, and he knows he shouldn’t be embarrassed about his nightmares, but he can’t help the slight clenching of his stomach as he realises that Tony had probably noticed this one. He hopes at least, that he hadn’t shouted out loud during it.

Tony’s eyes flick over him and he tugs restlessly on his shirt collar, seemingly trying to get it to lie straight. “Your hair’s a mess,” he says bluntly, his eyes sliding off him as he reaches up to run a hand through his own hair. At his words, Steve's shoulders drop, and he lets out a breath, a spark of relief settling in his chest at the knowledge that they are apparently going to move on from how he had woken up.

He knows he shouldn’t be embarrassed, but he doesn’t really want to talk about it either.

“Right,” he says, running a fruitless hand through his hair and brushing over the beginnings of scruff on his face.  “Too bad we didn’t think to bring an overnight bag.”

Tony gives a humourless laugh and shakes his head. “What a thing to bring to a funeral,” he mutters, and Steve realises abruptly that Peggy’s funeral had only been yesterday. That is what he had been supposed to do yesterday. Go to a funeral, and go to a meeting, — and now, he is sitting in an empty office in Germany.

Not only is the timing difficult, it had also effectively made sure that none of them have any of their usual equipment. His shield is back in New York, and he imagines that Tony’s JARVIS-glasses are the only bit of tech the man had brought over with him.

It can’t be helped though, and he sucks in a breath, running a hand over his face as he stands up. “I’m going to clean up,” he says to Tony as he turns to step out of the office and head down to the bathrooms. His head feels strangely light as he moves, and after he washes his face, he takes a drink from the faucet, realising he hadn’t had anything for a while.

He does his best for his hair and general appearance, but he can’t help that his dress shirt is wrinkled and marked with soot. He knows his own appearance shouldn’t reflect badly on Bucky, but he can’t help feeling like it will.

It can’t be helped though, and he lets out a sigh before unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows, the move helping to disguise a few of the newfound stains. That finished, he turns to head back to the office— and ends up having to catch himself on the edge of the sink instead, another wave of dizziness hitting unexpectedly.

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised, considering the stress of the last few days, but it is a little inconvenient.

Once he is certain he is stable on his feet, he makes his way back down to the office and trades off with Tony, the man stretching out his arms and rotating his shoulders as he walks down the hall, mumbling something about beds and spines under his breath.

Back in the office, Steve is privately beginning to wonder when their day will start and when someone will come for them to deal with Bucky, when his phone starts ringing.

He had left it next to his makeshift bed, and he steps over, sitting down as he reaches to grab it, wondering idly if one of the Avengers are calling to check in again.

It is not one of the Avengers. Instead Hannah’s contact stares up at him.

Oh. He drops his head and squeezes his eyes shut. He hadn’t even thought to contact any of Bucky’s family, and now his sister had probably seen the whole thing on the news and… he imagines finding out that way hadn’t been much better than watching Bucky actually get arrested in real life.

He presses a button to answer the call and holds the phone up to his ear, his voice rougher than he’d like when he speaks. “Hannah.”

Hannah’s voice is thin with worry, but still laced with a familiar steadfastness. “Steve,” she says, and he finds himself sinking deeper into the chair as he listens. “I’ve been so worried,” she continues tightly. “I keep seeing things on the news, and the whole family has been calling me, but I don’t know anything— and then I tried calling you — and Bucky, but it didn’t go through—” She sucks in a breath and Steve clutches a little tighter at his phone. “Are you okay? Is Bucky okay? What is happening?”

He breathes out and closes his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” he says quietly, bringing a hand up to rub at his brow, a headache threatening to make its home there. “It’s been a busy day.”

Has it really only been a day since everything…? Yes, it has.

“I haven’t watched the news yet,” he continues. “But I can imagine what they are saying.” He lets out a breath. “The meeting in Vienna got bombed,” he tells her, before sucking in a breath. “The Avengers are mostly okay, but for some reason Bucky is on the security tape, so they think he did it. He got arrested yesterday afternoon.”

Over the phone, Hannah’s breath catches. “But Bucky would never—”

“I know,” he says quickly, opening his eyes. “I know, and me and Tony are doing our best to set things straight.” He takes in a shaky breath and rubs at his temple. “It’s a bit of a mess right now, but we’ll figure it out.”

Behind him, the door opens, and he flicks his eyes over to see Tony slipping back into the room, looking slightly rumpled, but presentable. Upon seeing him on the phone, he remains quiet and sits down, letting Steve focus back on his conversation with Hannah.

“Can I talk to him?” she asks. “Can I talk to Bucky?”

He winces. “I… don’t know,” he says slowly. “They have Bucky in some pretty high security… I’m not even sure I can go in to see him. We’re waiting on a psychologist to assess him, and then we’ll get started with our lawyers.”

Hannah remains quiet for a moment, before he hears a soft sniff, and the sound of movement, like she is wiping her face. His stomach twists, and he wishes that the story and Bucky’s involvement hadn’t made it onto the news. Hannah doesn’t deserve to be worried like this.

“Take care of him, alright?” she says quietly, her voice trembling just slightly on the last word. “And take care of yourself too, Stevie.”

He nods and swallows past a lump in his throat. “I will,” he says roughly. “I will, don’t worry.” After that, he says his goodbyes, and rubs his hand over his face as he hangs up, feeling tired despite having slept most of the night.

Across from him, Tony shifts, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm on his knee. “Who was that?” he asks.

Steve drops his hands and looks over. “Bucky’s sister,” he answers. “She saw the news.”

Tony's mouth twists and he looks down, muttering a quiet curse under his breath. After a second, he looks back up and huffs out a breath. “Well,” he says, tapping his fingers on his knee again. “It’s almost eight, so I’m guessing things are going to start happening soon. I have a lawyer on the way, so hopefully she’ll—”

He gets cut off as Steve’s phone buzzes again and he looks down to see another call, this time from Jason. He blinks in surprise, because he had in no way been expecting a call from his therapist, and it takes him a second to realise he needs to answer.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” he says, glancing up at Tony and moving to stand up from his chair. His head swims slightly as he moves, but he shakes it off quickly enough, raising his phone to his ear as he steps over to the door, hoping for a little privacy as he slips out into the hall.

“Jason?” he starts off, still a little surprised. “I wasn’t expecting a call.”

On the other end of the line, Jason huffs out a quiet breath of amusement, and Steve leans against the wall next to the office, his head ducking as he listens. “Yes well,” the man replies. “Most of my patients don’t have their problems broadcasted on international news.”

Ah, right. That would definitely be a clue. “I know you’re probably busy,” Jason continues, and Steve wonders if that is why he had called so early, hoping to catch him before he starts his day. “But I just wanted to touch base, make sure you’re handling things.”

Steve’s breath catches on a dry laugh and he runs a hand over his face, his shoulders hunching. “I’m doing my best,” he says back, clearing his throat as he works on breathing evenly. “There’s… there’s been a lot this week.”

The Accords, Peggy’s death, Peggy’s funeral, the bombing, Bucky’s arrest… He shakes his head. A few days ago, he had been worried about figuring out how to retire… and now he has to worry about Bucky being charged with terrorism.

“I’m sure it’s overwhelming,” Jason says quietly. “Do you have someone there with you? You’re not trying to do this by yourself?”

He can’t help smiling at how well Jason knows him by now. “Tony’s here,” he tells him. “He’s helping. He’s going to help with the legal stuff. We just—” He sucks in a breath. “We just need to deal with that, and then… and then we’ll deal with the aftermath.”

He can’t even imagine what the aftermath of this is going to be. Bucky’s face and alleged crime had been splashed all over the news, so even when they prove his innocence, he has a feeling that the peaceful life he had been living in the Avengers compound is going to be overshadowed by this for a while.

He feels a flare of anger at the thought, frustrated at whoever it is that had felt the need to stomp all over Bucky’s hard work, but he gets distracted away from the feeling as Jason speaks up. “Continue to focus on the present,” he says. “Just the things you need to get done today. Don’t get overwhelmed by the future. We’ll deal with that when it comes.”

Steve takes in a deep breath and nods. One step at a time, he reminds himself. “I know,” he replies quietly.

“Good,” Jason tells him. “Now, how has the rest of you been doing? How’s your sleep?” Steve opens his mouth— and closes it again, thinking back to his nightmare and how he had woken up. On the phone, Jason seems to take his silence as an answer in and of itself. “That good, huh?”

Steve lets out a breathy laugh, ducking his head and running a hand through his hair before he sobers up slightly. “We got in late, but I slept through most of the night,” he says finally. “Woke up to a nightmare though. I’m not really surprised.”

The image of Rumlow’s smiling face flashes in his mind again, and he shakes his head. Who would have thought, that despite blowing up Lagos and escaping, Rumlow would be the least of his worries right now?

“Hmm,” Jason hums over the line, drawing his attention. “At least you slept,” he says. “What about eating? When’s the last time you ate?”

Steve thinks back to the last time he had eaten a meal… and continues to think back. “Ah,” he says, swallowing. “Oops.” With the tight scheduling between Peggy’s funeral and the UN meeting, and then the chaos with the bombing and Bucky’s arrest, the last time he had actually managed to eat a proper meal had been yesterday… at breakfast.

That might explain the dizziness. And the headache. And some of the tiredness.

Jason lets out a long-suffering sigh at him. “Okay, so the next thing you’re going to do is find some food,” he orders bluntly. “Extra calories to make up for what you missed. Drink some water.”

Steve’s mouth quirks up and he nods, his stomach taking a chance to complain, now that he remembers how empty it is. “I will,” he says, although he does wonder a little at where he is supposed to get food here. “I’ll do that.”

“Good,” Jason replies. “Set an alarm on your phone if you think you’ll get distracted away from lunch or supper today.” Steve nods again, even though Jason can’t see him, and he hears the man breathe in, letting out a breath on his end of the phone. “Will you be okay now?” he asks. “I don’t want to hold you for too long.”

Steve closes his eyes for a second and leans back against the wall. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, opening his eyes again. “I’ve got Tony. We’ll figure it out. Thank you for calling though.”

“Take care of yourself,” Jason says, before signing off, his words sounding much more like an order than Hannah’s had.

The both of them are right though – about him needing to take care of himself – and once his call with Jason is over, he sets the alarm on his phone for lunch (because he has no doubt he will forget without it) and he heads back into the office where Tony is waiting. As he steps inside, he can’t help thinking that his friend has also probably eaten just about the same amount as he has, given how busy their day had been yesterday.

Well. That will have to be fixed. “Do you know where we can get breakfast?” he asks, sitting down on his collection of chairs. “We haven’t eaten for a while.”

Everett Ross had asked them to stay in their offices, but Tony makes some calls and manages to get food ordered up to them, and they wait patiently for it to get passed through security. “Do… you think we should invite T’Challa?” Steve asks eventually, his eyes flicking to the wall bordering the neighbouring office.

Tony's brows raise in surprise, and he shifts thoughtfully. “I mean, I’m not against it,” he says. “Do you think he’d want to come?”

Steve isn’t exactly sure, but he doubts T’Challa has had much more food than either of them, and it isn’t really the man’s fault that he is mad at Bucky, considering the evidence he has, and the grief he is going through. So, when the food arrives, he finds himself heading over to knock on the next-door office.

There is a blurry image of someone moving around behind the frosted glass before the door opens to reveal T’Challa, the man’s own appearance about as good as his or Tony’s. Steve finds himself at a loss for words for a second as they stare at each other, and he can’t help noting the nearly healed cuts on the side of the man’s head.

He shifts, and Steve remembers himself. “Tony and I ordered some food,” he gets out quickly, gesturing back towards his office. “I doubt they have a cafeteria or anything here, and if they do, it definitely isn't open so…” He rubs the back of his neck. “Did you want to join us?”

T’Challa stares at him for a moment longer, probably surprised by his invitation, before he blinks and looks towards Steve’s room. “I… suppose it would be wise,” he says finally, looking back at him. “Thank you for your offer, Captain.”

Steve manages a small smile and leads him back to the office, opening the door to the smell of take-out. He isn’t really sure how often T’Challa has eaten this kind of food, or how similar the spread is to what he would normally be eating for breakfast, but he sits down to eat with them without comment, and Steve tries to relax enough to eat the amount of calories he needs.

The silence of the room is a little awkward, but the food is welcome, most of which seems to be the breakfast options of the local fast-food restaurants. He is just finishing up a breakfast burrito when Tony speaks up, glancing between both him and T’Challa.

“The aid that brought up the food told me that the UN’s psychologist will be coming in about an hour,” he says quietly before turning to Steve. “My lawyer – Chelsea – she’s not here yet, but she’s already talked to Ross. We’re going to be allowed to watch the interview.”

Steve lets out a sigh of relief, glad that he won’t be completely in the dark about what is happening to Bucky. “I don’t know why they had to bring in their own psychologist,” he mumbles, reaching for an English muffin. “Bucky already has a therapist. They could've just talked to Carmen.”

Tony shrugs and takes a drink from his coffee. “I’m sure Chelsea will bring her in,” he says. “As long as the UN’s psychologist’s evaluation goes smoothly, she can be used to corroborate him. If not, then she’ll be our counterpoint.”

On the other side of him, T’Challa shifts, and Steve looks over with a slight flare of trepidation. T’Challa doesn’t look up at him though, instead keeping his eyes on his breakfast sandwich, and Steve notices that he is now wearing his father’s ring on his finger.

“You seem very convinced that your friend could not have been the one to kill my father,” T’Challa says, lifting his eyes to pin him with an intense stare.

Steve swallows and glances back down to his meal. “I am,” he says softly, lifting his head to look back up at T’Challa. “I am sorry for what happened to your father, and I know you don’t know much about Bucky besides what the media is saying, but believe me when I say that he would never do something like this.”

T’Challa’s jaw moves, not quite clenching, but something close to it, and he flicks his eyes over Steve. “So you claim,” he says, his hands motionless on his food. “Yet your friend’s face is on the security feed, and, does not his past as the Winter Soldier prove he is capable of such acts?”

Steve’s tongue flexes in his mouth, and he breathes in carefully, not wanting to overreact to T’Challa's words. Before he can say anything though, Tony speaks up. “We don’t know why Bucky is on the security feed,” he says, crossing his legs as he takes a drink from his coffee. “But we’re going to find out. As for his actions as the Winter Soldier…”

His eyes slide away to the window for a moment, before they come back up to T’Challa. “I don’t know how much you saw when SHIELD fell and their files were released, since JARVIS pulled most of Bucky’s files,” he says. “But I’m probably uniquely qualified to understand what you’re going through right now.”

He leans back slightly and drops his eyes on his cup. “When Bucky was the Winter Soldier, he actually did kill my dad.”

He offers T’Challa a crooked smile, and the fingers of his free hand tap steadily on his leg. “I was angry about it too,” he says. “Even though I knew that it was Hydra who was ultimately to blame.” He swallows and lets out a breath. “It took me a while to come to terms with it,” he continues, swirling his cup and breathing in, looking down. “And the thing was…” His lips press together. “Bucky couldn’t even remember he had done it, Hydra had wiped it from his memory.” He lets out a low breath and swallows, uncrossing his legs, before crossing them again the other way, his eyes on his cup.

For his part, Steve stays quiet, knowing that Tony needs to say his story in peace, and that T’Challa also probably needs to hear it uninterrupted. Beside him, Tony breathes in and looks back up at T’Challa.

“I was there when Bucky remembered what he had done for the first time,” he says quietly, something distant in his eyes. After a moment, they sharpen, and his gaze flicks over T’Challa. “He was devastated,” he says quietly. “He wasn’t even using his own name yet, but he was horrified by what Hydra had made him do.”

He shakes his head and takes another sip of his coffee. “I can tell you right now that Bucky would probably rather die than go back to anything like what he was doing as the Winter Soldier. He isn’t an Avenger because he doesn’t want to fight unless he has to.”

He breathes in and shrugs his shoulder, meeting T’Challa’s eyes again. “And, if that isn’t enough, I can tell you that even if Bucky had some reason for wanting to bomb the UN, he wouldn’t do it while Steve was in the building. Never in a million years.”

Steve’s head darts up at that, and he blinks at the strength of the declaration. He knows that it is true, but it is nice to hear out loud. “For you guys too,” he cuts in, looking over at Tony. “He would never hurt any of the Avengers. Not if he could help it.”

Tony glances at him for a moment and twitches his mouth at him in a flash of a smile, his shoulders relaxing slightly before he takes in a steadying breath and goes back to his coffee. On the other side of him, Steve can feel T’Challa’s gaze, and he turns his head to meet his stare.

The man stays silent as he looks at him, his eyes flicking over his face for a moment before seeming to rest on his ears for a moment, his jaw rotating for a second before he looks down.

Steve swallows and leans forward. “What happened to your father was a terrible crime,” he says, causing T’Challa to glance at him again. “And whoever did it must be brought to justice. We want that too. That’s why we’re fighting for Bucky. Once we know what is happening, we’ll be able to bring justice to your father.”  

T’Challa keeps quiet as he looks at him before dropping his gaze to the ring on his finger, his thumb running over the silver band. “That remains to be seen,” he says quietly.

oOo

The UN’s psychologist is finally ready, and Sharon comes to get them, bringing all three of them into a meeting room, the glass walls around them revealing CIA agents and Ross on the other side, all waiting intently for the evaluation. Inside, Sharon presses a button on the control panel in front of her to show a screen with Bucky sitting in a grey room, still restrained in the glass cell from yesterday.

Steve takes in a steadying breath at the sight and sits down. Tony and T’Challa follow suit, and his eyes catch on a set of papers on the table. He reaches for them, and pulls them closer, his eyes widening as he realises what they are. It is a set of black and white photographs, the security footage of Bucky.

His eyes glance over the blurry images, seeing for the first time the ‘evidence’ against Bucky, and his jaw clenches. “Why would the Task Force release this photo to begin with?” he wonders bitterly, setting the pictures back on the table.

Sharon looks away from the feed of Bucky and gives a small shrug. “To get the word out,” she says. “Involve as many eyes as possible. With his Winter Soldier training they probably didn’t want to take any chances.”

Steve frowns and taps his finger on the table. “Did they really think he could get that far? He came with us to Vienna, they denied him entrance into the building.”

Sharon presses her lips together. “If they believed he planted the bomb, then they would believe that he had some way of getting out.”

But he didn’t, Steve thinks quietly. He came right to the scene of the crime, not exactly guilty behaviour.

He doesn’t say that though. Instead he looks back at the pictures. “They think he could escape out of Vienna, but couldn’t hide his face from some cameras? They didn’t find it odd that the cameras around the park he was in were tampered with?”

Sharon’s brow furls and she folds her arms. “You’re saying someone is framing him?” she asks, and Steve can feel T’Challa’s eyes on him. “They’d have to know he was alive in the first place,” she continues. “That wasn’t public knowledge. And they would have to know that he wouldn’t be in the building at the time of the attack.”

Steve’s lips thin and he glances back towards the feed from Bucky’s cell, resisting the urge to tap his fingers restlessly.

On screen, the psychologist — a Dr. Theo Broussard, according to Sharon — moves to stand next to the table and chair that have been placed in front of Bucky’s cell, his back to the camera. “Hello Sergeant Barnes,” he says, his rough voice echoing through the feed, a shudder seeming to run through Bucky at the words. “I’ve been sent by the United Nations to evaluate you. Do you mind if I sit down?”

In his cell, Bucky breathes in and shakes his head, his throat flexing as he swallows. Steve narrows his eyes as he watches Broussard sit down, something about him— something about his voice tugging at his brain.

“I’m not here to do anything but ask a few questions,” the man continues, and Steve finds himself leaning forward, trying to get a better view of his face. He can’t see much of him, besides his glasses and short-cropped hair, and he scowls slightly as the man pulls out a tablet and a notebook. “Do you know where you are, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky’s eyes close for a second as he tilts his head up to the ceiling, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he breathes in. (And Steve remembers suddenly that he hates that name. He doesn’t use it anymore.)

“My name is Bucky,” Bucky says, as he looks back down. “And they told me I was being sent to Germany.”

Steve can’t see the expression on Broussard’s face, but the man shifts in his seat, his finger tapping on his tablet. “Bucky, of course,” he says, and for reasons that Steve can’t quite name, the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he listens. On screen, the man glances up at Bucky. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Bucky doesn’t respond and the man continues. “I’m sure it’s difficult, living with the things you’ve done.” He leans forward slightly. “But we don’t have to worry about the past.” He tilts his head. “Just the future.”

Something about the man’s voice sends threads of anxiety up and down his spine, and he shifts uneasily, his mouth pulling into a thin line, his shoulders stiffening as his hands press into the table and he stares at the screen. Compared to his sessions with Jason, this evaluation feels… off somehow, and he glances over at Tony to see if the man feels the same.

Tony meets his eyes for a second and he opens his mouth. “We—"

Steve never gets to find out what he has to say, because at that very moment, Bucky’s feed cuts out, the screen flickering black as he jerks his head over, his hackles rising and his breath catching in his throat as the room around him plunges into abrupt darkness.  

Chapter Text

Red emergency lights flash a steady rhythm in the dark as the agents outside the meeting room scramble to fix the problem. Steve eyes dart around, and he watches Ross pull a walky-talky to his mouth, the man’s face a scowl of frustration.

“Great, come on guys, get me eyes on Barnes,” he hears him say, his voice muffled slightly by the walls of the meeting room. There is a note of stress in his voice, and Steve’s chest tightens at the sound, his worry over Bucky probably entirely different from Ross’.

Beside him, Tony is pulling out his JARVIS-glasses, tapping them as he puts them on, the lenses lighting up in front of his eyes. “JARVIS, get me the source of that outage,” he orders, and Steve finds himself standing, his eyes darting over the frantic agents, their movements shadowed and amplified by the flashing lights.

In slow motion, his gaze sweeps up to Sharon from across the room, her eyes meeting his evenly as he breathes in and sets his jaw. Something is happening. The power outage can’t be a coincidence, not after everything else, and his heart pounds in his chest as he stares at her, internally trying not to imagine the very real possibility of the danger that Bucky is in right now.

Sharon must be on the same wavelength as him, because her voice doesn’t waver as she answers his unspoken question. “Sub-level 5, east wing.”

He barely has time to nod gratefully at her before he is bolting towards the door, intent on making it to Bucky as fast as possible. His heart pounds in his throat as he wrenches the door open, and panic tugs at the edges of his mind, but he can feel himself focusing down on the mission in front of him, the simple objective drowning out the flashing lights and the controlled chaos around him.

Find Bucky.

Tony gets up to follow him, and he is vaguely aware of T’Challa doing the same, but he doesn’t pay them much mind, his breath coming out in even bursts as he turns and slips past the CIA agents, his eyes darting around as he ducks out of the meeting room and begins to pound his way down the hall.

He wishes he had been given a map of this place, or at least had arrived in the daytime, so he could figure out where he needs to go. Thankfully though, he has an additional advantage on his side. “Tony!” he calls, throwing a brief glance back as he runs. “Do you have a map of this place?”

Tony is a few paces behind him, and he has to consciously keep from outrunning the man. No matter how much he wants to get to Bucky as fast as possible, it would be foolish to run in without backup, especially since he doesn’t know exactly where he is going.

JARVIS seems to be talking to Tony through the glasses though, and the man glances up, his gaze intense. “There’s stairs at the end of the hall!”

Steve nods and sets his sights on the door ahead of them, the red emergency lights reflecting off the walls around them and casting eerie shadows along the floor as he runs. He makes it to the door, and shoves it open with a resounding clang, his breath tight in his lungs as he begins sprinting downwards, conscientiously resisting the urge to jump over the railing as Tony and T’Challa follow him down, their steps echoing in an almost deafening rhythm down the stairwell.

He grits his teeth and bares with it, his mind primarily focused on getting to his destination. His dress shoes squeak as he wrenches himself around another set of steps and he tries to guess what could be happening, and why. It is likely that the power has been cut because of Bucky somehow. Everything about the bombing and his arrest had been sketchy to begin with, and it had ended up with Bucky restrained and alone— and now no longer monitored.

And the psychologist. He had set him on edge. He still doesn’t know why, but the man has to play a part in this. Theoretically, right now he is the only one with Bucky, and Steve has no way of knowing what is happening between them, and he can’t help the flare of alarm that rises in his chest at the thought.

If Bucky is being framed, then whoever is doing it had to know he was alive to begin with, had to know where he would be taken and… and then what? Is Bucky just a good scapegoat to cover for killing the king of Wakanda, or is there something more?

The power outage certainly seems to imply that there is more, and his lips pull into a grim line as he finally bursts out onto the floor where Bucky is being kept. Tony and T’Challa are still several paces behind him, but he doesn’t wait as he marches down towards the bunker door, glaring down at the guards standing tensely outside.

“What are you doing?” he demands, his voice harsher than usual, his worry making it difficult to remain civil. Shouldn’t the guards be in the cell with Bucky now? Or at least check on him somehow? With the power down they are the only ones who could know what is happening inside, and they hadn’t done anything.

“Why are you still outside?” he barks, coming to stand in front of them, practically vibrating with his pent-up worry, anger, and fear over the situation. “You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on him. What are you doing?”

Sure, they might be supposed to guard Bucky, but shouldn’t they also guard him from stuff as well?

The guards quiver slightly under his hard gaze, and they dart their eyes uncertainly over Tony and T’Challa as the two men come up behind him, but they stand their ground, their hands resting tensely on the guns at their hips as they stare back at him.

“That’s the Winter Soldier in there,” one of them says, flinching slightly as he draws Steve’s gaze. “Without the power— he could, he could maybe get out. Sir.” He swallows, shifting uncomfortably. “I heard he goes wild sometimes, and with that arm of his— if we open the door, then he could get out, sir—”

The guard seems to be actively trying to dig himself deeper with every word, and he seems to be aware of it, his voice growing more uncertain and his spine straightening like a nervous recruit as Steve’s gaze grows sharper and darker at his speech.

The man swallows and pulls back slightly, darting his gaze to his partner, who seems to be doing her best to stand perfectly still, her gaze on some point on the wall behind Steve. “It’s too dangerous to go inside,” she says, before darting her tongue out to anxiously lick at her lips. “Sir.”    

On any other day, Steve might feel something at the fact that he is able to pull rank with these guards with just a look, but right now he just feels angry.

“Bucky Barnes is not dangerous,” he grits out tightly, internally fuming at the way they seem to be referring to Bucky as some kind of caged animal. “He is in danger though,” he continues, just as sharply. “And Ross wants eyes on him. So move.”

The first guard shifts and swallows uneasily, his eyes darting between Steve and his partner. “I’m not sure it’s protocol—” he starts, and Steve loses his patience. He doesn’t have time to deal with these guards while who knows what is happening to Bucky inside.

So he stops trying to argue.

Instead he simply darts forward. The guards flinch, and react as though they expect him to attack them — but they don’t quite manage to draw their guns, and Steve is certain that a small quiet part of their brains are currently rebelling at the idea of drawing a gun on Captain America. The second of hesitation is all he needs though as he snatches the door key off of one of their belts and shoves past them, ignoring their shouts as he swipes the card in the card reader and reaches for the bunker door.

The card reader works thankfully, probably running on emergency power, and the door opens soundlessly, revealing the dark grey walls of Bucky’s cell, the metal still reflecting the flashing red emergency lights. Steve doesn’t pay them much mind as he bursts inside, T’Challa and Tony a step behind him as they push past the guards and make it inside.

He doesn’t know what he had been expecting, he hadn’t wanted to think about what could be happening to Bucky before this, so he doesn’t know what he had been expecting — but he isn’t prepared for what he sees.

Steve’s eyes are drawn to Bucky as he bursts in, and the man has torn himself away from the restraints on his chair, the room is filling with a deafening crash as his friend manages to use his metal arm to break down the safety door of his cell, his hair swinging wildly and his expression desperate as he tumbles out and lands heavily on his hands and knees.

But that isn’t the worst part. The worst part is the man that stands a few feet back from Bucky’s cell, a gun held almost casually in his hand.

“Грузовой вагон,” he says, and the world seems to freeze.

Steve knows that word. He knows that word because he hates the sound of it — and he knows that it is the last word in Bucky's triggering sequence. The one that Hydra had implanted in him to turn him into the Winter Soldier, and the man— the psychologist, whoever he is — must have been triggering Bucky and—

And he has a gun on Bucky. That is what really stops him in his tracks, his mind spinning as he, Tony and T’Challa stumble to a halt inside the doorway, their eyes darting over the scene. The man– the psychologist– flicks his eyes to them for a moment, but he keeps his gun trained on Bucky, and Steve stares at it. Surely… he shouldn’t have even been able to get a gun in here at all— how could he have snuck it through security? And the fact that it is on Bucky… that is more of a problem than if he had been pointing it at him.

He can risk a gunshot wound if he needs to, in order to protect Bucky, but even he is not fast enough to keep Bucky from getting hurt if the man decides to shoot. So he is forced to freeze and stare, his teeth grinding in frustration as he curses that fact that neither he nor Tony had brought any of their equipment to Europe. They had been going to a funeral, and now he is standing in a bunker in Germany, with someone who knows Bucky’s trigger words, and has a gun on him.

Bucky seems to freeze at the end of the sequence too, and Steve’s heart skips a beat as he looks over at him, his friend still hunched over amid the glass of his cell, his hair shielding his face from view. The trigger words shouldn’t work on him. They had erased them. It had taken months but they had gotten rid of them, and tested them and—

In front of him, the man – Broussard smiles, glancing proudly around the captivated room, before his eyes narrow and zero in again on Bucky —  the man still sitting frozen in front of his cell, his quiet pants filling the room.

“Soldat,” Broussard snaps, his voice grating roughly over the word and once again tugging at something in Steve’s memory.

He is too preoccupied by Bucky though, to think much of it. He knows the trigger words shouldn’t work— but Bucky isn't fighting anymore, and it is obvious that he had been fighting, he had beaten down the door to his cell, but now he isn’t even looking at him and—

Bucky raises his head, his hair swinging as he rises, standing up smoothly before pulling back and shifting into a calm, neutral stance, his hands lifting up to clasp together behind his back. “Я готов отвечать,” he says, and Steve’s whole body runs cold.

Ready to comply.

No, he thinks numbly, his eyes pinned on Bucky, searching for any signs of life in his eyes. No, no, that isn’t possible, they had tested the trigger words, they had—

But, a traitorous corner of his brain pipes up. You haven’t tested them in a while. What if his resistance weakens over time? What if it has been too long since he has last tried to fight the sequence—

His train of thought gets cut off as the man in front of Bucky begins to laugh, the sound short and choppy in his throat as he turns to Steve. “How ‘bout that,” he says, his eyes glinting, his gun still pointed at Bucky. “The Asset’s come home again.”

Steve’s brow furls at his words and he stares at the man. Something about him— something about his voice keeps trying to tug at his memory, and the fact that he had known the trigger words… His fists clench and his mouth pulls into a thin line, his brows drawing down into a scowl. “Who are you?” he demands, his voice dropping into a growl.

The man’s mouth twists into a cruel smile and he tilts his head. “Can’tcha recognise me, Cap?” he taunts, his lips curling up in a sneer. “No? Maybe this will bring back a few memories.” At his words, the man brings up his free hand to pull off his glasses and toss them to the side, raising his chin as he brushes his fingers along the line of his jaw.

Steve watches dumbstruck as he pulls at his face, tugging away a wispy, transparent face mask.

SHIELD tech, he thinks numbly, recognising the photostatic veil from his work with the organisation years before. The nano-mask allows the wearer to imitate the appearance and voice of another person, and he watches as ‘Broussard’ peels it away, the individual panels flickering and shifting to reveal the burned, twisted remains of an all too familiar face.

His stomach drops in realisation, and he stares wide-eyed as Rumlow grins nastily at him, discarding the last of the shimmering mask off to the side with a careless flick of his wrist.

“Surprised?” he smirks, and Steve now knows why his voice had been familiar. It is rough and damaged, thanks to his injuries from the fall of Hydra, and while the nano-mask had hidden most of it, he had heard the original only weeks ago, when Rumlow had blown the building in Nigeria.

He can’t help the curse that slips out of his mouth as all the puzzle pieces finally click together. “You’re the one that blew the UN,” he accuses, his fists clenching. “I should have known— it was the same bomb as in Nigeria, wasn’t it?”

The skin on Rumlow’s face pulls as he smiles. “Had to test it out somewhere,” he says easily. “And it certainly set a few things in motion, didn’t it?” His eyes dart to Bucky and it is only the gun in his hand that keeps Steve from taking a step forward in anger.

Even so, he can feel Tony shuffle behind him, probably ready to try to grab onto his sleeve again if he needs to. But, he is not so angry that he is out of control. Not right now. Not with these risks. His anger builds in his chest, and he keeps it there, ready for when he can use it.

For now, his eyes burn as he stares down Rumlow. “That was your plan?” he snaps. “You wanted the Winter Soldier back? You killed all those people, just to get to him?”

Behind him, he can feel T’Challa shift, and he privately hopes that the man isn’t willing to risk Bucky’s life just to go after Rumlow right now. He imagines that this whole conversation and its set of revelations is difficult for him, but if he tries anything, he is certain that Rumlow will shoot Bucky. Or order him to fight them all.

He doesn’t want to fight Bucky. He does not.

“Just to get to him, restrained,” Rumlow clarifies, shifting a little closer to where Bucky is still standing, his friend’s gaze continually blank and horribly empty. “We could have tried to go after him before but…” Rumlow shrugs and kicks some of the glass on the ground. “As you can see, Cap, he’s picked up a few bad habits in his time away.”

Steve's nails dig into his palms and he has to breathe in rather sharply to keep from launching himself at Rumlow and therefore endangering Bucky. The way Hydra talks about Bucky… the way they treat him like some kind of trained animal… it makes his blood boil, and he is never going to allow that kind of thing to happen to Bucky again.

“You should have thought through your plan a little bit more,” he spits out, glaring, despite Rumlow’s smile. He doesn’t know how much work the man had put into this scheme— and he suspects that it had been a major operation— but it is immediately obvious to him that the man hadn’t considered one very important element to it.

It actually amazes him how few people seem to think through this part of triggering Bucky. Rumlow isn’t the first person to have tried it. Years ago, a Stark Industries employee had also tried — and Bucky had been able to resist back then — but neither Beck nor Rumlow seem to have thought over the fact that he also knows the trigger words.

It is all well and good to trigger the Winter Soldier, but the only way to actually have that plan succeed would be to immediately flee. The only way to keep Bucky, would be to make sure that he could not reach him, ever. They would have to be on the run forever, because he would find them, and if the triggering sequence works, then the other trigger words work too, including the shutdown protocol.

He hates the word, because of what it represents, and how it treats Bucky like some kind of misbehaving computer program, but his friend had already given him permission to use it in an emergency, and while he may never want to use the thing again, he is not about to let Rumlow walk out of here with Bucky.

Never. Ever.

“What?” Rumlow taunts, stepping closer to Bucky, unaware of his growing fury and determination. “You really think you can stop me? You think you can convince me that you’ll fight the Asset?” His grin widens. “All I have to do is threaten to set him on your friends there, and he’ll do it. I said the trigger words, so I am his handler. He won’t listen to you.”

We’ll see about that, Steve thinks grimly, his mouth pressing into a thin line. He doubts the Sputnik trigger word is handler specific, and his eyes glint as he raises his chin, his mouth opening as he gets ready to say the word.

“Sp—” he starts— and then Bucky moves.

He almost misses it, with how fast it is, but one second his friend is standing placidly next to Rumlow, his face set in a familiar expression of glazed compliance, and the next he is twisting around, his hands moving in a blur as he knocks Rumlow’s gun to the side and comes up with his right arm to punch him square in the jaw.

The shutdown protocol dies on Steve’s lips as he watches Bucky move with a deadly grace, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed as he glares at his former handler, the sound of his fist as it hits Rumlow’s chin echoing through the room.

Rumlow grunts in surprise and pain as he reels back, his stance destabilising as Bucky twists his hand around his wrist and expertly pulls the gun out of his grip, bringing his leg up to sweep the man’s feet out from under him in one fell swoop.

Rumlow goes down like a sack of bricks, and in the span of two seconds he is on the ground, the situation completely flipped as Bucky stands over him, the gun clutched menacingly in his metal hand, the sounds of his steady breaths filling the stunned silence of the room.

Rumlow gapes at him, his hand coming up to touch at his bloody lip in shock, before his face twists into a scowl of anger. “Asset!” he snaps, fury burning in his eyes as he stares up at Bucky. “Cease and—”

“Shut up,” Bucky growls, his hand never wavering on the gun as he glares down at Rumlow. “Shut up,” he says again, his voice hard with buried anger. His chin raises, and his eyes glint in the red lights. “I am not the Asset,” he bites out, sucking a breath as his free hand clenches into a fist by his side. “The sequence didn’t work, Rumlow.”

Steve’s breath catches and he has to bite his tongue to keep down a hysterical laugh of relief as Bucky’s words wash over him. His hands shake slightly at the shock and he has to blink away a flash of tears as he realises that his fears had been unfounded. Bucky… hadn’t been triggered at all. He hadn't. He must have been pretending, biding his time until the right moment where he could take Rumlow down.

Rumlow doesn't seem quite as willing to accept the new reality of his situation, his eyes flicking frantically over Bucky in disbelief. “I said the words,” he sputters, his fingers whitening as his hands press furiously against the floor. “You said the words back—”

Bucky scoffs and takes a slight step back, his gun still trained on Rumlow, glass crunching under his feet as he straightens his stance. “Did you really think that it would work after three years?” he spits, his eyes dark as he glares, anger growing in his voice. “Did you really think that you could just waltz in here and make me your attack dog again?”

His jaw clenches and he takes in a tight breath, his glare never leaving Rumlow’s face. “The trigger words don’t work,” he growls at him. “And you killed a dozen people just to try.” His hand tightens marginally on his gun. “And you failed.”

Rumlow’s eyes jump from Bucky’s face, down to his gun, and Steve is certain that without his burns, the man’s face would be as pale as a sheet. His breath catches, and something desperate seems to enter his eyes. “Sputnik!” he bursts out, a frantic edge to his voice. “Sputnik! Sputnik!”

In front of him, Bucky grits his teeth and widens his stance slightly, the only outward indications of his efforts to resist the trigger word. “That one doesn’t work either,” he snaps, keeping his gun on Rumlow, never wavering in his aim.

Steve can’t help the swell of pride he feels at watching Bucky resist the word. That one had been harder than the others. That one had taken a lot of time and effort and frustration, but after three years, Bucky is now completely free from his trigger words, and Rumlow is finding that out the hard way.

The man stares at Bucky, open-mouthed, and Steve can’t help feeling a sharp sense of vindication as he watches all of Rumlow’s plans fall apart around him. The man had really thought that he could swoop back in and take control of Bucky again, like Bucky isn’t really a person at all, and hadn’t been developing and living his own life for the past three years.

That isn’t exactly good news for Rumlow though, because it means that he had planned and risked everything for nothing, and Steve watches the anger build up in his eyes again, furious that Bucky had developed a sense of self and had removed himself from Hydra’s control.

Rumlow snarls something that he doesn’t quite catch, the man’s anger peaking as he jerks forward, ready to launch himself at Bucky. Steve isn’t exactly sure what the man’s plan is, but he doesn’t even have time to try to step forward and intervene before Bucky’s hand is moving, a gunshot ringing sharp and sudden throughout the room.

The shot echoes off the metal walls and Rumlow collapses back down with a ragged scream, his breath bursting out in choppy pants as he curls up.

Steve stands frozen as his eyes dart over the scene, his heart pounding as he tries to determine where he had been shot, and what had just happened. Down on the floor, he watches as Rumlow reaches down instinctively to clutch at his ankle, the man shuddering as blood begins to seep out from around his shoe.

He pants harshly in pain and snaps his head up to glare at Bucky, baring his teeth at him, and looking half-feral in the dim light. “You missed,” he taunts, spitting blood as the words hiss out of his mouth. “This is not even lethal, have you really gotten so soft—”

“I didn’t miss,” Bucky replies, a picture of calm as he keeps his gun trained on Rumlow. “You just don’t get it yet.” His eyes flash and his voice hardens slightly. “I’m not the Asset anymore, Rumlow,” he bites out, raising his chin as he looks down on him. “I don’t kill people anymore. It’s my choice.”

Rumlow’s eyes widen, before his face darkens into a scowl, his gaze burning as he opens his mouth. Bucky twitches his gun at him, the red light reflecting off his metal hand. “I’ll shoot your other foot though if you don’t shut up,” he deadpans.      

Rumlow pulls back and wisely closes his mouth, and Steve decides that it is time to try to de-escalate the situation a little.

“Alright,” he says, taking a step forward, flicking his eyes once to Bucky before glancing back towards Tony. “Go see if the guards can be useful enough to have cuffs,” he tells him.

Tony nods determinedly and turns around to head back towards the door. For his part, Steve squares his shoulders and marches over to Rumlow, privately thinking Thoughts about the guards who have yet to make an appearance, despite all the chaos, and the literal gunshot that had just happened.

Not that they would have been super helpful, but still.

Even without backup, he is more than a match for Rumlow – with or without him being shot – and the man seems to know it, because he doesn’t resist much as he walks over and reaches for him, forcing him to roll over and lay on his stomach.

Rumlow hisses slightly as the move jars his foot and Steve finds that he doesn’t care very much as he pulls his arms up behind his back and holds them there. Once he has Rumlow subdued, Bucky relaxes a fraction and he can see his friend suck in a breath, his eyes closing for a second in exhaustion, before he opens them again and sweeps the room in a perimeter check, his feet crunching slightly on the glass scattered across the floor.

 Steve’s lips press into a thin line and he grits his teeth. He cannot imagine how difficult these last 24-hours have been for Bucky, but he can’t risk leaving Rumlow to go comfort him right now. Instead he flicks his eyes up to Bucky and holds his gaze, trying to put all his emotions behind one look.

“Are you alright?” he asks, the words a placeholder for a much longer conversation.

Bucky twitches his lips at him and sucks in another breath, his gun hand lowering slightly. “Yeah,” he says roughly, before clearing his throat and blinking rapidly. “I’ll be alright.”

Steve swallows and shifts his grip on Rumlow, the man grunting slightly in irritation at him. All at once, he feels very tired, and he fights the urge to close his eyes, all too conscious of T’Challa’s gaze on him, the man having stayed silent for most of the altercation.

Steve flicks his eyes up to him, and like Bucky, he imagines the man will have a lot to work through after all of this. He supposes that it had been good for him to be here to see Rumlow and learn the true culprit for the bombing… but he can’t imagine what it is like to learn that his father had been murdered in a calculated attempt to trap and frame someone else.

T’Challa stays silent as they wait for the guards to come back (and Steve is seriously beginning to wonder about them, shouldn’t they have been just outside the door?), and he stands in front of them, staring down at Rumlow, his eyes hard.

Steve breathes in through his nose and wracks his brain for something to say. He isn’t really sure what can be said in this situation, but he knows that stewing in silence isn’t really a better option—

Rumlow decides to take over for him, the man laughing roughly, his face pressing into the floor. “Do you really think this is over just because you caught me?” he taunts, turning his head so that he can look at him with one eye. His shoulders flex and he laughs again. “I may not have the Winter Soldier, but the world now knows about him.”

His mouth twists and he cranes his head to look over at Bucky. “Everyone now knows who you are, and what you did,” he spits. “There are other groups that’ll want to get their hands on you. They’ll come after you, just you wait.”

He swallows, and takes in a laboured breath, his eyes still on Bucky. “And the people,” he continues, his split lip beginning to bleed again as he laughs. “You think everyone will believe you’re innocent just cuz they caught me?” He grins nastily, seeming not to notice his lip. “There will always be people who will believe you just got off because you’re Captain America’s friend,” he says. “The conspiracies about you will erupt–”

Steve’s teeth clench and his hands tighten on Rumlow’s without meaning to, his face dropping down into a scowl as Rumlow cuts off with a pained grunt. “Shut up, Rumlow,” he snaps, anger curling up in his stomach as he darts his eyes up to Bucky, his pulse quickening.

He hates to admit it, but Rumlow isn’t exactly wrong. Bucky’s face had been plastered all over the news, and, even when it comes out that he is innocent, people will still remember it, and they will remember when they had thought he was guilty. He will always be just a little bit guilty in people’s eyes.

He grits his teeth and sucks in a breath, aware of T’Challa’s gaze on him again, something thoughtful now shifting around in their depths. He glances up at him for a second before he breathes out, loosening his grip on Rumlow just slightly. (As much as breaking the man’s wrists would feel justified, he doesn’t want to give Rumlow any grounds to claim mistreatment or something when this all goes to court.)

Right. Yes. He will have to deal with that, and the backlash against Bucky.

But later. He will deal with it later. Right now, all he has to do is keep Rumlow held down and wait for the bloody stupid guards—

“Look, I told you—”

His head darts up at the sound of Tony’s voice, the high and strained note of frustration in his words setting him on edge. His breath catches and he tenses as he watches as an entire squad of guards pushes their way into the cell, dressed head to toe in riot gear with their weapons drawn, Tony trailing along behind them with a look of irritation plain on his face.

Normally, Steve would feel relief at the presence of backup, but the look on Tony’s face, and the hostile stance of the men sends shivers down his spine, the hairs on his neck standing on end as he darts his eyes over the group.

Tony meets his wide-eyed gaze, a scowl deep on his face. “The guards didn’t come in because they were busy getting backup,” he spits, before shifting his gaze to the line of armed men. “But I told you, Bucky isn’t dangerous. Call Ross first at least, com’on—”

The men don’t seem to hear him, their stances tense and edgy as their weapons come up to aim at Bucky, the man standing frozen amid the shattered glass, his hand still on Rumlow’s gun.

“Put the gun down,” one of them orders, his slow, deliberate tone threatening retaliation otherwise.

Back on the floor, Steve fights the very insistent urge to curse.

Chapter Text

Maybe it isn’t that surprising that the guards suspect Bucky immediately, given how they still believe that he blew up the UN, but Steve can’t help the fury that rises in his chest at how, despite the fact that he is currently holding Rumlow down, Bucky is still their first target, thanks to the gun in his hand.

Bucky’s eyes widen and he stiffens as the guards aim at him, and Steve’s ears helpfully inform him of the pickup in pace in his heartbeat. His lips press together at the sound and he watches as a flash of irritation flickers over Bucky’s face, his jaw clenching just slightly before he breathes out and slowly raises his free hand.

“Alright,” he says quietly, beginning to slowly bend his knees and set down his gun. “Alright, I’m—”

Rumlow strains in Steve’s grip, seeming determined to grasp at whatever straws he has left at his disposal. “He went insane,” he bursts out, squirming and turning his head to spit angerly at the guards. “He attacked me! Cap’s on his side, he—”

“Be silent.”

The words drop into the air before Steve can respond to Rumlow’s desperate claims, and the two of them dart their heads up to stare at T’Challa, the man holding Rumlow in a smoldering glare, his eyes holding a deep, profound, but careful rage.

He blinks, and the look is stored away, the man now turning to flick his gaze over to the guards and Bucky— the man now frozen, half-crouched, with his gun on the floor. T’Challa takes a step forward, and the flashing red emergency lights glance off the silver of his ring as he turns and plants himself directly in front of Bucky, cutting him off from the line of fire.

For his part, Bucky remains completely still and silent, barely breathing as he crouches, his eyes darting over T’Challa and then to the guards beyond. T’Challa’s eyes glance back to him once, before he raises his gaze to stare challengingly at the guards, his regal stance somehow managing to erase the lingering traces of yesterdays bomb and the stress of the last 24-hours.

“This man is innocent and not a threat,” he states calmly, before nodding over to Steve and Rumlow. “Captain Rogers has our true culprit.”

The guards shift uncertainly, and Steve mentally curses their determination to see the Winter Soldier in Bucky. He adjusts his grip on Rumlow and looks up at the guards, his eyes locking onto the one who had ordered Bucky down. “This is Brock Rumlow,” he tells him evenly. “A former Hydra agent and the one who blew up both Nigeria and the UN.” His eyes flick to the gun and back to the guard. “That’s his gun too.”

Which is rather interesting, considering how Bucky hadn’t even been let into the building in Vienna, simply because of his arm… but Steve is willing to bet that if Rumlow had been willing to risk this whole venture, then he would have planned around getting a weapon inside.

He wishes that he wasn’t so certain that ‘inside help’ was a part of that plan.

He will deal with that later though, for now the guards seem to at least be willing to take over restraining Rumlow while they radio Ross and re-evaluate the situation. He steps away as they come closer and cuff the man, Rumlow remaining spitting mad during the whole process.

He finds he doesn’t feel much as he watches Rumlow get dragged off to get his foot looked at before he gets put somewhere secure for the time being. Rumlow had been a loose end in his hunt for Hydra for the last several years, and he had always wondered what the man had been up to… evidently it had involved falling off the deep end.     

His ears pick up the stutter of a breath, and he turns to see Bucky now standing, still half-guarded behind T’Challa. Now that Rumlow and the guards are gone, his face has tightened into thinly veiled stress, and Steve’s stomach lurches at the expression, and he takes an immediate step towards him.

Bucky’s eyes flick almost desperately to him as he steps around T’Challa, his arms reaching up instinctively to pull his friend towards him. Bucky comes easily, stumbling slightly as he grabs onto him and presses his face into his shoulder, his breaths beginning to become louder as the immediate urgency of the situation begins to wind down.

Steve swallows heavily and clings tighter to Bucky, trying not to think too hard about the subtle trembling in his limbs. He cannot even imagine the amount of stress that he has been in for the last 24-hours, and then to have Rumlow appear and try to trigger him…

He breathes in and blinks his vision clear, focusing down on Bucky. “Are you okay?” he asks roughly, his mind suddenly flashing back to the last time someone had tried to trigger Bucky like this, they had ended up in almost exactly the same position. “I’m so sorry,” he says, because there isn’t anything else to say. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with it, but you did good, you did really good.”

Bucky lets out a ragged laugh, his hand coming up to wrap around his arm, his voice muffled in his shoulder as he speaks. “Gotta say, Europe doesn’t really seem to like me much,” he mumbles, the levity of his comment a thin mask for the magnitude of what had happened to him.

Steve laughs anyways, a sort of half-desperate sound as he and Bucky work on recovering from everything. In his arms, Bucky shifts and pulls back, bringing a hand up to brush away his hair as he flicks his eyes over him. The shaking in his hands is more pronounced now, but his breathing is more even, and he seems to be calming somewhat, riding through the last of his body’s physiological response to the day’s trauma as he looks at him.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says quietly, his hand still clasped around his arm. “I saw— you thought the triggering had worked, hadn’t you?”

Steve can’t hide his wince at that, his stomach squirming unhappily. There isn’t anything accusatory in Bucky’s gaze, but he doesn’t want his friend to think that he hadn’t believed that he could fight off the trigger words. “I didn’t want to,” he says quickly, tightening his grip on Bucky’s arms. “I didn’t think it would work, and I couldn’t understand why it would, since I knew it shouldn’t.”

Bucky’s mouth twitches and he ducks his head into a nod. “Sorry about that,” he says. “I wouldn’t have done it if you guys hadn’t all come into the room, but he had the gun, and I didn’t want to escalate it before I knew I could keep him from hurting anyone.” He swallows and shrugs, his eyes darting to the side. “I thought that if he thought he had me, he might let his guard down a little.”

Steve nods in understanding, breathing in. “Seems like you were right,” he says, and Bucky’s shoulders seem to relax a little at his response. He shifts, and glass scrapes under his feet as he moves, reminding Steve that they are still standing amid the broken door of Bucky’s cell.

“Here,” he says, keeping one hand on Bucky as he moves to step away, leading them both back towards the interview table. By now, Tony and T’Challa have both migrated over there, and Steve is glad that the two of them had let him and Bucky have a moment to themselves after everything that had just happened.

Tony offers Bucky a brief crooked smile as he approaches, and his eyes drop down to glance over his metal hand. “How’s your arm?” he asks, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It wasn’t really designed with ‘breaking down cell doors’ in mind.”

Bucky lets out a soft chuckle and brings his hand up, flexing the metal fingers slightly to show their functionality. “The joints are fine,” he tells him. “My shoulder is a bit sore though, if we’re ever allowed out of here, you can probably look it over.”

Tony huffs and rubs a tired hand over his face. “Yeah, I’m sure the lawyers are going to have fun with this one,” he mutters, before he glances over and takes a step to the side, letting out a quiet groan as he leans over to pick up the photostatic nano-mask that Rumlow had discarded earlier.

“You know,” he says, his voice holding a dull edge of exhaustion to it as he looks down at the mask, the panels shimmering and flickering in his hands. “I bet this could help explain how Bucky got on that security camera.”

Steve blinks, his mouth dropping open in realisation. “Of course,” he says, his gaze pinned to the deceptively innocent mask. “All Rumlow would need is a wig, and he’d be set.”

His eyes jump over as T’Challa steps forward, silently taking the thin material from Tony, his eyes unreadable as he stares it down. After a moment, he lets out a sigh and hands it back, suddenly looking just as tired as the rest of them as he turns to Bucky.

His eyes dart over him, something deep and tired in his gaze, before he opens his mouth. “Before all this,” he starts. “I did not know much of you, or your past history.” His eyes slide over Bucky and he gives him a slight nod. “From what I hear from your friends, it makes me glad that you are not the true culprit.” He blinks his eyes closed for a moment and opens them again. “I only wish we had not had to go through all this to find out.”

Bucky breathes in and shrugs, his gaze flicking over T’Challa for a second. “It’s not your fault Rumlow set me up,” he says, his eyes darting down to rest on the mask in Tony’s hands. He stares at it for a moment before glancing back up at T’Challa. “I’m just sorry your father had to get caught in the crossfire.”

T’Challa nods, and Bucky’s shoulders slump, his hand lifting up to rub over his face as he lets out a sigh. “I imagine you’ll be hearing a lot more of me though,” he says, his tone turning dry. “I’m guessing my reputation is shot after all this.”

Steve frowns and remembers some of the vitriol that Rumlow had spat at Bucky once he had been restrained. As much as he would like to imagine otherwise, he is guessing that the next little while is not going to be easy for either of them.

Bucky had lived most of the last three years in relative anonymity.  But now, within the last week, Ross had come to poke sticks at him, his face and past had been plastered all over the news, and he had been tied to a terrorist attack, which he then had been arrested for.

It is exhausting just thinking of that mess. He doesn’t even want to try. He doesn’t have to though, not yet, because Bucky turns his gaze back to the nano-mask, his eyes going thoughtful. “So…” he starts slowly. “I’m imagining Rumlow wasn’t the guy who was supposed to talk to me…” He glances up at them. “What happened to him?” 

Before they can find out, they have to make sure they can leave the bunker with Bucky, without getting shot. Ross finally makes it down to the room, and while he has his own guards with him, he isn’t as hostile as Steve had first been expecting. He seems more irate with his own taskforce, rather than suspicious of Bucky.

“You’re telling me,” he gets out, his eyes narrowed as he stares down one of the guards. “That a former Hydra agent infiltrated us, with a gun, and it took you a full ten minutes before you even tried to apprehend him?”

Steve doesn’t envy the guard (although he does find the interrogation rather fitting), and Ross turns away from the stuttered explanations unimpressed, muttering under his breath about department-wide investigations and personnel reviews.

Steve can’t help smiling at that. He gets the impression that while some of Ross’ actual policies had been edging on problematic, the man himself doesn’t actually seem to be allied with Hydra. The man seems to take his job seriously, and is therefore thoroughly peeved at the events of the day.

With Ross more or less on their side (and with Tony’s JARVIS-glasses’ recording of the situation), it doesn’t take long for the man to clear them all to leave the cell. “It’s not completely over yet though,” he tells them, his eyes glancing between the four of them. “We still have to run everything through the system and drop the charges, so it would be a lot simpler if none of you leave the premise for now.”

The request isn’t wholly unreasonable, but it is still a little annoying after so long a day, and Steve soon finds himself being led tiredly back up to his office, Bucky in tow this time as Tony calls his lawyers and Ross works on finding out what had happened to the real psychologist.

It feels weird coming back to the empty office after everything that had happened. The chairs are still pushed into makeshift beds, and the desk still has a few leftover wrappers from breakfast, but this morning feels like eons ago now.

“You should stay with us,” Tony tells T’Challa, his phone still to his ear as they step inside. “It’ll just be easier.”

T’Challa follows silently, pulling out his own phone as he moves to sit down. Steve isn’t sure exactly who he is calling, but he imagines that there are several people in Wakanda who will want to be informed of today’s developments.

Next to him, Bucky sits down tiredly on one of the leather chairs and rubs at his left shoulder. Steve looks over at the motion, scanning him instinctively as he notes the lines of fatigue on his face. The sight reminds him of the kinds of accommodations Bucky had been living in for the last 24-hours, and he leans towards him, his eyes searching his face.

“Did you sleep at all?” he asks, drawing Bucky’s gaze to him. “Did they keep you in the cage the whole time?”

Bucky huffs out a breath and lifts his hand to run it over his face. “I slept as well as anyone could, in that thing,” he says. “They let me out once for the bathroom.”

Steve’s lips press together, and he moves to sit down next to him. “Did they feed you?” he asks, his questions a twisted mirror of the ones Jason had asked him this morning.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “I was actually impressed. They gave me enough for my metabolism.”

Steve breathes in and relaxes slightly. He supposes it is a bit sad that he feels the need to ask if Bucky had been given food, but with the way people had been acting around him, he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn if he hadn’t.

He runs a hand through his hair before pulling out his phone, and checking for any messages. The sight of his phone reminds him of his other call this morning, and he turns to Bucky, holding out the device. “You should call your sister,” he says. “She’s worried about you.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, and he reaches for the phone immediately. “Ah, geez,” he mumbles as he swipes for the number pad. “I can’t imagine how this must have been for her and the family.”

Steve turns away as Bucky makes the call, wanting to give him a little privacy, and he catches the eye of T’Challa from across the room, the man’s gaze resting on them for a moment, before he turns back to his phone, murmuring a few foreign words as he listens. His finger taps on the arm of his chair for a moment, and his eyes flick up to Bucky, his head tilting, before he turns back to his phone.

Steve can only guess what he is talking about, and he is distracted away from the man as Tony lets out a breath and leans back in his own chair, turning off his phone. “Okay, well, the lawyers are here,” he says, glancing over at him. “Chelsea’s already started talking to Ross. We’ll have this sorted out soon.”

Steve nods at that. Tony’s team of lawyers had been working with them and Pepper ever since SHIELD had fallen, and he trusts that they will be able to sort out the mess between Bucky and the UN – especially now, with the new evidence from Rumlow – but he isn’t sure what they will be able to do about Bucky’s public image.

Rumlow had pretty thoroughly trashed that, even though Bucky is ultimately innocent.

His thoughts are pulled away from the problem as his phone lets out a chime, the device still in Bucky’s hand. He glances over and his friend’s brow furls. “Just a second Hannah,” he says, before pulling the phone away from his ear and glancing at the screen. His mouth quirks up at the sight and he casts an amused look at Steve before putting the phone back to his ear. “It’s lunch time now, apparently,” he says, and Steve suddenly remembers the alarm he had set.

“Oh, hey, it is,” he hears Tony say, the man glancing at the time on his own phone as Bucky begins to wrap up his conversation with Hannah. Tony looks up at him. “I guess we could try to order something again.” He glances over to T’Challa. “Any preferences?”

They end up ordering pizza, because it is an easy way to get enough calories for both him and Bucky, and they wait for it to be scanned through security again before being brought up to them.

“Did you really sleep here?” Bucky asks as he digs into a cheese pizza and scans the room, his eyes glancing off the chairs they had pushed together to form makeshift beds.

Steve huffs out a breath and reaches for a slice of his own pizza. “Yeah,” he says, around a mouthful. “We probably could’ve found a place to stay, but I doubt I would have slept much better anywhere else.”

Tony scoffs and shakes his head. “Speak for yourself,” he says, his hand coming up to rub at a knot in his back. “You guys might have a fancy serum to help you recover from sleeping rough, but I do not. I’m not as young as I used to be, you know.”

Bucky’s eyes light up and he grins. “Aw man, Stark. I thought you were the one to put ninety-nine candles on my cake this year.”

Steve chokes on a laugh and ducks into his pizza to hide his mumble. “Yeah, and almost burned the whole place down in the process.”

Tony seems to take pleasure in looking offended, his hand coming up to rest on his chest. “Oh sure,” he says, nodding his head. “Gang up on the guy who bought the food. Good plan.” He waves a hand and points at them. “The fact still stands that you two are the youngest ones on base.”

More or less, Steve thinks, not bothering to hide his smile this time. Tony isn’t wrong. The only person younger than him and Bucky is Spider-man, and Steve has yet to learn exactly how young he really is. Plus, the vigilante isn’t a permanent member of the compound, so he doesn’t exactly count.

He is distracted from his thoughts on Tony’s protegee as T’Challa sets down his slice and glances over at him and Bucky, his gaze thoughtful. “How old are you?” he asks. “Physically.”

Steve blinks and purses his lips, his eyes flicking over to Bucky as he thinks. “I guess I haven’t thought about that for a while,” he says, tilting his head as he does the math. “Think I’m turning thirty-one this year,” he says. “Bucky is thirty-two, so that sounds about right.”

T’Challa sits up slightly and smiles. “You’re almost my age,” he says, shifting slightly in his chair. “I’m thirty-five.”

Next to him, Tony scoffs, muttering something under his breath about ‘the youth’. Steve rolls his eyes at him, before opening his mouth to make a teasing comment about ‘back in his day’, but he never gets the chance.

An aid taps on the door of their room, ducking her head in as they look up. “Ross wants to see you,” she says, her serious tone throwing a damper on the room. “It’s about Broussard.”

oOo

“We found him in his hotel room,” Ross says as they gather around the meeting table, the same one that they had been watching Bucky’s interrogation in only hours ago. The power still isn’t up yet – according to JARVIS, Rumlow had shorted out the main power for most of the city – but emergency lights cast a sharp glow on the table as they sit.

At least now that Tony’s lawyers have stepped in, people seem less inclined to glare suspiciously at Bucky. Ross does glare a little, but not at Bucky, instead his eyes settle on a photograph, his brow furling unhappily as he places it on the table and slides it down for everyone to see.

It is a picture of Broussard, the man’s face bloody, his corpse slumped over in the hotel bathtub. Steve presses his lips together and looks away, his eyes glancing over to where Bucky is staring fixatedly at the photo.

“Our guess is Rumlow,” Ross continues evenly. “It may be difficult to track, given his nano-mask technology, but we’re sweeping the area for evidence now.”

Bucky shifts, his eyes never leaving the image. “How many people is that now?” he mumbles, almost to himself. “Over a dozen that Rumlow killed, just to get to me.”

Steve leans towards him immediately, prompting him to glance up and meet his eyes. “It isn't your fault,” he says firmly, without breaking his gaze. “Rumlow was the one who killed those people, not you.”

Bucky lets out a sigh and glances away, his metal hand curling slightly on the table. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

Steve’s lips press together, and he leans back, noting T’Challa’s gaze on him, the man’s eyes flicking to Bucky thoughtfully. For his part, Steve looks down at the photo again and can’t help feeling a little extra resentment towards Rumlow for this whole mess.

The man’s plan had been desperate, and he had killed a lot of people to do it, and no matter what he says, Steve knows that Bucky will still feel some responsibility for the people who had died.

At least pretty much everyone else doesn’t seem inclined to blame him for anything now, and after Ross informs them of Broussard’s fate, Tony's lawyer comes in to settle the last of the legal technicalities needed.

Chelsea comes in with a smile and a handshake, a leather folder in her arms and a sharp glint in her eyes. Steve hadn’t really had to work with her closely before now, but he can’t help being in awe as he watches her work. The woman hasn’t had much more than 24-hours to work with – not to mention the fact that the situation had been highly volatile, new evidence coming out just this morning – but she still comes in thoroughly prepared and not at all looking like someone who has spent the last night putting a case together.

T’Challa leaves to give them some privacy as she comes in, but he and Tony stay with Bucky, Ross sitting across from them as Chelsea sits down, her salt-and-pepper hair tucked up neatly around the crown of her head. She glances over them and pointedly sets her folder down in front of her.

“I think it’s safe to say that the evidence of Bucky Barnes’ innocence is abundant,” she starts with a tilt of her chin. She flips open her folder and looks up at Ross. “Even without Mr. Stark’s recording of the altercation between Mr. Rumlow and Mr. Barnes, the eyewitnesses to the event, as well as the tampering with the cameras back in Vienna, the murder of Mr. Broussard, and the nano-mask found in Mr. Rumlow’s possession clearly exonerate Mr. Barnes.”

Ross nods without argument, and Chelsea shifts, turning her eyes to Bucky. “The UN has already agreed to drop the charges against you,” she says. “But,” she flicks her eyes over him. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have a case against them.”

Steve blinks and Bucky sits up slightly in surprise as he looks at her. Chelsea turns her eyes once from him to Ross, before glancing back at Bucky. “It’s up to you,” she says, shifting some papers around in her folder. “But the CIA allowed an armed criminal into your cell, placing you in physical danger and undoubtedly causing a mental and emotional toll on you.” She holds his gaze. “Not only that, but they released your image and alleged crime to the public, something which will likely have an impact on your life for many years to come.”

She shifts her gaze between them all before focusing back on Bucky. “We can pursue this further later,” she says. “But I felt you should be aware of the option.”

As she finishes, Ross coughs and shifts, his eyes flicking to Bucky. “No matter what you do,” he says, seeming to stare more at Bucky’s ear than his actual face. “I can pretty much guarantee we will be having our own internal investigation. Too much happened here today not to do one.”

Across from him, Bucky breathes in and folds his arms, looking down, his brow furled in thought. The room is silent for a moment as he thinks, and Steve flicks his eyes over Ross, imagining that the man’s workload has probably just doubled because of all this.

Even if Bucky doesn’t press charges, he gets the impression that Ross will be feeling the effects of this for a long time. A minute passes, and Bucky looks up, his eyes glancing off of Ross for a moment, before he looks over to Chelsea.

“I… think I’m tired of the legal system right now,” he says, his shoulders slumping slightly, his hand reaching up to rub at his left shoulder. “And trying to go after the CIA right now will probably bring my Winter Soldier past even further into the public consciousness, so… I don’t feel like pressing charges right now.”

Chelsea nods, and Steve gives Bucky a small smile of encouragement. While he may agree with Chelsea that the UN and CIA had definitely failed Bucky on several levels, he can’t help feeling similarly to Bucky right now. Pressing charges would probably lead to a long, drawn-out, potentially very public trial – and something like that is also very likely to bring Bucky’s past with Hydra even further into the light, which they don’t want.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that the UN and the CIA hadn’t raised some red flags, and he casts a glance over at Ross, thinking about the gun that Rumlow had managed to sneak inside. That… is something that will need to be looked into.

He wonders if anyone has done any background checks on the person who runs security lately.

His thoughts are drawn back to the current situation as Chelsea begins to close up her folder again. “That is understandable,” she tells Bucky, nodding at him again. “If you ever change your mind, or want to know more, please contact me. The statute of limitations in Germany is a minimum of three years, so we have some time if you change your mind.”

Bucky nods and takes in a calming breath, sitting back as Chelsea moves on to clarify some final details with Ross about Bucky’s release.

“You should be good now,” she says, turning to him. “You might be asked to come to Rumlow’s trial, but I imagine that that will take some time. For now, you’re free to go.”

oOo

In the end, Steve thinks that they are extremely lucky to have Chelsea on their side. He cannot imagine trying to untangle this mess without Tony’s lawyers working with them. As it is, they can finally take Bucky out of here and return back to the Avengers.

This still isn’t over, not really. But they can at least go home.

“I just left my jacket back in the office,” he tells Bucky and Tony as they get ready to leave. “I’ll be right back.”

The other two nod, and he ducks away, following the – by now – familiar route back to the office Ross had given them. He supposes they were probably lucky that Ross had been willing to accommodate them that far (although his status as an Avenger may have helped with that), but he won’t be lying when he admits that he is glad he won’t have to be going back there again after today.

There is someone inside when he arrives, and he blinks as he recognises T’Challa, the man standing with his back to him, gazing out of the windows, his phone clutched in his hand.

He turns as Steve enters and gives him a nod, his eyes flicking over him contemplatively. Steve nods back, his eyes glancing from T’Challa to his jacket laying next to his makeshift bed.

“I was just coming back for this,” he says, stepping towards it. He reaches for it and then pauses, holding it in his hands as he flicks his gaze over T’Challa. It feels a little strange thinking about him now, thanks to the loss of tension between them, but he can’t help feeling for the man.

“We’re just heading out,” he says, suddenly feeling a little awkward about leaving the man here on his own. “Will you be okay here?”

In front of him, T’Challa’s mouth quirks up slightly, and his stance seems to relax as he turns fully towards him. “Yes,” he says, lifting his phone. “I have people coming for me.” His face flashes with amusement. “As you can imagine, they have opinions about me coming all the way out here.”

Steve huffs out a small laugh and looks down. He imagines that the internal politics of Wakanda are probably up in arms right now, not to mention the fact that T’Challa had potentially put himself in danger by following them here.

“I’m glad I caught you before you left though,” T’Challa continues, and Steve glances up at him. T’Challa’s eyes catch his, and he sets his shoulders. “I have a proposition for you, Captain,” he says, tilting his head. “Tell me, how much do you know about my country? About Wakanda?”  

Steve blinks, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he thinks. “I’ll admit,” he says slowly. “I don’t know much about Wakanda. Only what the media says.”

T’Challa’s eyes glint and he smiles, shifting forward. “I see,” he says, an undertone of amusement in his voice. “Of course, we both know that the media’s coverage is not always entirely accurate.”

Steve nods a little uncertainly, his eyes flicking over T’Challa as he tries to figure out where he is going with this. He can easily guess that the man is referring to the media’s coverage of Bucky during this whole thing, but what that has to do with Wakanda…

T’Challa breathes in and draws back slightly. “I have had a lot of time to think these last few days,” he says quietly, “thanks to the media, and what happened to your friend.” Steve nods, and T’Challa continues. “I will admit Captain, that when Barnes was named as the culprit, I was furious.” His lips press together and his hand squeezes slightly on his phone. “I believe that if he had not been apprehended so quickly, then I would have hunted him down myself.”

Steve swallows and remains silent, his eyes on T’Challa. In front of him, the man breathes in and looks away, his eyes drifting back over to the windows. “Of course,” he says quietly. “Little did I know that Barnes was innocent. Just as much of a victim in all of this as my father.”

He glances back at Steve and looks down. “Looking back,” he says. “It seems obvious to me now.” He looks up. “If I had been more willing to see what was in front of me, then perhaps I would not have been so quick to judge your friend.”

Steve’s throat flexes as he swallows, and he fiddles slightly with the jacket in his hands. “It isn’t your fault,” he says softly. “Rumlow set Bucky up to take the fall. You saw how they were treating Bucky here, you weren’t the only one willing to see him as the Winter Soldier.”

The corner of T’Challa’s mouth lifts slightly and he shakes his head. “Even so,” he continues. “I should have been more willing to search for answers. To ensure I was condemning the right man.”

Steve thinks personally that T’Challa had been in the midst of grief, and that he can’t blame himself too much for accepting the story given to him. The memory of Peggy’s death is still fresh in his mind, and he cannot imagine how difficult the death of T’Challa’s father has been for him.

Of course, T’Challa is royalty, so he can understand why the man may feel the need to hold himself to a higher standard.

His gaze flicks to T’Challa as the man breathes in and sets his shoulders. “In the end, we caught the right man,” he says. “And he will face justice.” His eyes flick over Steve solemnly and he presses his lips together. “But I heard what he said to Barnes. Your friend will still suffer because of this.”

Steve winces and looks down at the jacket in his hands. “His identity was revealed to the world in probably the worst way possible,” he says, swallowing back a wave of bitterness at Rumlow. He looks up and catches T’Challa’s eye. “He told me once that for him, just living a normal life is fighting Hydra, given what they wanted for him…” He trails off and his hands tighten on his jacket. “I guess he was right.”

In front of him, T’Challa gives him a sober nod, shifting forward slightly. “That is what I wanted to speak to you about,” he says, moving to put his phone in his pocket before looking up to catch his eyes.

He breathes in and sets his shoulders. “Wakanda has remained isolated from the world for decades now,” he says, clasping his hands in front of him. “My father said that we will extend our hand forward in peace, and I believe that we must continue to do so.” He raises his chin. “I may not be able to help my father anymore, but I can help your friend. If you wish to come to Wakanda – if you need some time away from this storm that Rumlow has created, then our door is open to the two of you.”

Steve’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens slightly in shock at T’Challa's offer. He doesn’t know much about Wakanda, but he does know that outsiders are generally not welcome, and he doubts that he can fully understand the magnitude of T’Challa’s offer.

As for the offer itself… he hasn’t had a lot of time to think about what he will do now that the Accords are in place, and now that Rumlow has thrown a wrench into Bucky’s current life, so leaving... It… is tempting. Dealing with the aftermath of this is going to be a lot of work, and the thought of having somewhere to be outside of the public eye, and relatively away from the Accords… is appealing.

Of course, that would mean leaving the Avengers compound, and it wouldn’t mean that all their problems would be solved… but it is something to think about.

“I’ll… have to talk to Bucky and the others,” he says finally, looking up at T’Challa. “If that is okay?”

T’Challa nods easily. “Of course,” he says, stepping forward and taking out his phone again. “I will give you a number to contact me with. If you ever wish to accept my offer, you only need to call.” His mouth presses up and he catches his eye. “I think you will find Wakanda… pleasantly surprising.”

Chapter Text

He doesn’t tell Tony and Bucky about T’Challa’s offer before they leave. They need time to rest and recuperate a little before he brings it up, although he knows he will need to mention it soon. Rumlow and his media storm won’t wait for them, in fact, it has probably already begun. If they leave for Wakanda soon, then they might at least be able to avoid the worst of the initial backlash.

For now though, Tony calls Clint, and they wait in the hangar as the quinjet is piloted expertly inside. “Sight for sore eyes,” Bucky mutters next to him, and Steve nods emphatically, following Tony as he steps towards the waiting plane.

The door opens and the platform drops, revealing Natasha waiting for them at the mouth of the quinjet, her hands on her hips. It’s a relief to see her, after everything that has happened, and Steve watches as she flicks her eyes over them, taking in the effects of the last 24-hours.

“You guys look terrible,” she says bluntly, and Bucky lets out an abrupt laugh at her words. Steve grins at the sound, because he’s pretty sure it is the first time Bucky has laughed since any of this had started, and he makes his way forward towards the jet, Tony and Bucky following along behind him.

Natasha smile slightly as they come in and watches as Tony rolls his shoulders and lets out a groan as he sits down. “I feel terrible,” he says, slouching in his seat as Steve and Bucky get themselves settled. “You’d think the CIA would have better accommodations,” he continues, waving his hand at Natasha as she moves to sit down. “One out of five stars, at best! Terrible customer service, I won’t be going back any time soon.”

Steve chuckles as Clint starts up the jet, and he moves to strap himself down, noticing how Bucky winces slightly as he reaches for his own buckle. He frowns at that, remembering how his friend had complained about soreness in his shoulder after breaking out of his cell. Hopefully, Tony will have a chance to look at it soon.

They still have to go get Bruce though, and for the rest of the flight back to England, Steve, Tony and Bucky give the other Avengers a brief rundown as to what had happened to them in Germany.

“Geez,” Sam mutters, once they are finished and nearing their destination. “I mean, I knew Rumlow was crazy, but you gotta admit, this was pretty desperate.”

Steve shifts and nods, flicking his eyes over to Tony as he thinks. While Rumlow’s plan had been a huge risk, he also knows that the man must have been reasonably confident that he would be able to accomplish it. A lot of things had needed to work together in Rumlow’s favour in order for him to succeed, including making sure Bucky wasn’t in the building in Vienna, and that Rumlow could be armed once inside the bunker in Germany.

Simply put, Rumlow wouldn’t have been able to do his plan without those two things, and he wouldn’t have tried it without being sure that they were in place… which means that it is very likely that he had had some help on the inside to make sure those parts of the plan went off without a hitch.

Steve isn’t sure if the insider help is necessarily high up, but he is willing to bet that at least some of the security team for both places were moles.  

It is a disturbing thought, but it isn’t exactly that surprising, given how Hydra had infiltrated other organisations before this. It is definitely something that he is going to have to investigate though.

Wait, he thinks suddenly, hardly noticing as Clint circles around to land the jet as they arrive in London. I won’t be able to investigate it at all. His stomach twists as he remembers all over again that with the Accords in place, he won't be able to hunt down Hydra anymore.

He had known that would be the case, and he hadn’t wanted to risk signing the Accords just so that he could continue his hunt… but it feels wrong knowing that Hydra heads are still out there and he can’t even fight them anymore.

Beyond that, he is even thinking about leaving entirely. How can he justify going off to Wakanda while bits of Hydra still linger all over the place—  

It’s not your responsibility to take out Hydra, Jason’s voice rises in his mind and he closes his eyes, remembering his last session with the man. Just because you fought Hydra before, doesn’t mean that you have to fight them forever.

Jason’s words seem more poignant than ever, especially after the Accords, and now with T’Challa’s offer. In his last session with him, Steve hadn’t known the UN’s plans for the Accords, and he hadn’t known that he would soon be forced to retire, but Jason had already been trying to get him to plan for the future.

It’s your choice, he had said. You can take a break, you can choose your battles. Hunting Hydra isn’t just your responsibility.

Around him, the Avengers shift in their seats, chatting lightly as they wait for the hangar door to settle and for Bruce to com on board, but Steve hardly notices, his mind mostly focused on his internal dilemma.

It isn’t exactly his choice anymore to retire. It is a choice in a way, but it had been made between a rock and a hard place, and now he is going to have to learn how to live with it. As Jason had said, it isn’t his actual responsibility to fight Hydra… and as he has said to Tony not long ago, he does trust his friends to be able to continue the fight without him.

So… even without Rumlow’s recent actions, and the implications they have, he can still step back. He doesn’t really have a choice about that anyways – unless he wants to sign the Accords— and Jason had said that he could take a break…

What had Bucky said? Living a life is a good way to fight Hydra?

How much of his life has been dictated by fighting Hydra? His whole world had been turned upside down when the war had started, and he had been chosen for the super soldier program in an effort to fight the organisation. His serum had even been initially developed for Hydra, and he had spent the next two years hunting them down throughout Europe.

It had been because of Hydra that Bucky had been captured – the event that had ultimately pushed him into leaving the USO tour – and it had been because of Hydra that Bucky had died.

He, himself had died fighting Hydra too, and then he had been frozen for seventy-years in a final effort to thwart their plans. Even after he had been reawakened, it hadn’t taken long before he was back at it.

It had only been a few weeks out of the ice before he and Tony had discovered time-travelers in the Tower, and with them the presence of Hydra, soon forcing him to go undercover in the very group he had fought for so long.

Even after blowing Hydra’s Helicarriers out of the sky and finally being able to hunt them more vigorously, Hydra had continued to leave lingering touches on his life. It had taken months of work and slow progress for Bucky to relearn his personhood and grow out of what Hydra had turned him into, and now, four years after he had woken up, and three years after he had found Bucky and started fighting Hydra again, Rumlow comes in and tries to destabilise everything again.

Hydra had been a constant, controlling factor in his life for years, and… that probably isn’t going to change.

Hydra thrives on power-imbalances and corruption. Just like neo-Nazis, he doubts they will be able to stamp out Hydra completely – not without a worldwide shift in human behavior.

So… he is going to have to figure out how to live a life, even with Hydra still in existence.

He doesn’t exactly like the idea. It was simpler back in the war, when Hydra was a clear enemy, and he had complete jurisdiction to hunt them down. It was easier when they could be clearly found in bases and camps, rather than hiding in governments and organisations – and deep within people’s own psychology.   

But times have changed… and maybe the fight has changed as well.

The traditional method of raiding bases works, but only when there are bases to raid. It does nothing to fight the ideologies that spawned Hydra in the first place, and it doesn’t fight the underlying social injustices that do Hydra’s work for them.

Even if he can’t fight Hydra physically, that doesn’t mean that he can’t hurt them. There are social justice causes that he can support, and as Captain America, he has a powerful voice he can use. People might be less inclined to listen to him, now that he isn’t actively fighting, but he imagines there is still a lot he can do.

Including taking a break, he thinks tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face as, around him, the Avengers lean forward to greet the returning Bruce. He will still have to discuss it with Bucky and the others, of course, but he imagines that Jason would probably approve of a sabbatical to Wakanda.

Bruce sets down his overnight bag in the seat next to him and offers Steve a small smile as he moves to sit down. “It’s good to see you,” he says as Steve glances over at him, noticing how the man flicks his eyes over him in a not so subtle doctor-scan. “A lot happened.”

Steve huffs out a breath and runs his hand over his face again. “No kidding,” he says tiredly, knowing that Bruce doesn’t even know the half of it.

oOo

It is late evening and raining by the time they get back to the Avengers compound, and they disperse quickly, worn out and tired by the exhausting week. They pause long enough to plan a meeting for tomorrow, and Tony makes plans to look at Bucky’s arm, but they all retreat quickly enough to their own rooms for the night.

Steve relishes in changing clothes and finally showering off the soot and grime from the Vienna explosion, and he wolfs down a late meal, before collapsing in an actual bed to sleep in.

He does not turn on the news.

The next day, he is still tired, but rested enough to entertain the thought of the meeting later in the day. It is scheduled for after Bucky’s appointment with Tony, but it doesn’t take long before Steve finds himself sitting in the meeting room, the one where – just days ago – Secretary Ross had come in and dropped the Accords on them.

So much had happened since then, it is almost hard to fathom, and Steve knows that with his announcement of T’Challa’s offer, he is just going to add to the multitude of revelations and changes happening in the compound.

He doesn’t bring it up right away, instead waiting until after he and Tony and Bucky have finished reporting everything from Berlin, and Natasha finishes summing up the recovery efforts in Vienna.

“Besides king T’Chaka, eleven people were killed,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And over seventy people injured. Clean-up efforts are ongoing, but it’s going to take a while before things return to normal.”

Next to him, Steve sees Bucky’s hands clench on the table at the death toll, and he nudges his friend slightly with his foot. He knows Bucky still feels some measure of guilt over the attack in Vienna, even though it is ultimately Rumlow’s fault, and his friend offers him a weak smile in response, his hands relaxing slightly as he turns his gaze to listen as Natasha continues.

“The UN has started to release a statement about Bucky’s innocence and the apprehension of the true culprit but…” She taps her fingers on the table and flicks her gaze over him and Bucky. “This is a high-profile case, and Bucky’s name was a hot topic. Even with his innocence, his past with Hydra has been violently brought into the public eye. It isn’t going to die down soon.”

She sighs and slumps slightly in her seat. “When Hydra fell, Tony had JARVIS pull our files and Bucky’s, so while people know he was the Winter Soldier, they don’t have a lot of concrete knowledge about his missions.” Her lips press together. “Of course, now, every high-profile case is being assigned to him and conspiracy theories are going wild.”

Steve winces, remembering how Rumlow had brought up conspiracy theorists as well. While Bucky may be more or less innocent in the eyes of the law, the same can not be said for the whole of humanity, and Steve would not be surprised to learn if Hydra heads are actively feeding the rabid corners of the internet.

Across from him, Tony curses and runs a hand through his hair. “What a mess,” he mutters, and Steve can’t help agreeing. It is becoming increasingly clear that the next few weeks, even months, will not be pleasant for any of them – but Bucky specifically.

He shifts in his seat and draws the attention of the group. “I actually have something that has to do with that,” he says, before taking in a breath and starting off with what T’Challa had told him. It doesn’t take long to explain to them all the offer, and by the end of it, he sits back, flicking his eyes over the group as they think it over.

“Just you two?” Clint asks after a moment.

Steve nods, “Yeah, I think so,” he says. “Wakanda isn’t really open to outsiders, so I think T’Challa would have said if anyone else was invited.”

Next to him, Bucky shifts. “Did he say when he wants us there?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. I think it’s up to us,” he says. “He left me his number if we decide to accept and go, so I guess we could go whenever, if we want.” His eyes linger on Bucky, the unspoken question of What do we want? in his gaze.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “It is tempting,” he says after a moment, his eyes a little distant.

Tony speaks up from across the table, his arms folded over his chest. “You’d be safe there,” he says bluntly. “Didn’t you say Rumlow said that other groups would be going after Bucky? They now know he exists.”  

Steve’s mouth twists as he remembers Rumlow’s threats and he looks down at the table, his fists clenching.

“We can’t hide forever,” Bucky says softly. “There will always be groups out there. They will always be a threat, unless we stay in Wakanda forever.”

Silence falls, and Steve swallows. He hadn't thought of that. It hadn't crossed his mind that some kind of permanent residence in Wakanda might be on the table. He tries to imagine it, and he can’t. Even with the Accords, and all the changes to the Avengers, he hadn't been expecting to leave them forever. Even if he can’t fight with them, they are still practically family—

“You don’t have to leave forever,” he looks up, and Bruce is speaking from the head of the table, his hands clasped in front of him. The man’s eyes flick up and he offers them a crooked smile. “I had to go on the run because of the Other Guy, but I don’t have to now. Ross leaves me alone now, even if he doesn’t want to.”

Steve nods slowly and breathes in, drawing the attention of the room back to him. “If we try to run from danger, we’ll never be able to stop,” he says, his mouth quirking up as he remembers saying something similar to Peggy, ages ago. “But…” He looks over at Bucky. “If we wanted to go to Wakanda for a few months, just to ride out the media storm…”

He shrugs. He doubts they will be able to avoid it completely, because Rumlow will eventually go to trial, and the story might get picked up again, but there is no reason that he and Bucky need to stay and be lambasted while they wait.

Bucky’s eyes flick over him for a moment before he turns his gaze to look at Natasha. “Would it be worse if we left?” he asks. “Would the media tear us apart for not being here?”

Across from him, Natasha purses her lips in thought and looks down. “It’s possible,” she says eventually. “But you are innocent, and we can spin your choice to leave in your favour. If we play up the psychological effects of Rumlow’s attack, we can pull public sympathy in your favour, make them understand why you left the spotlight.”

Bucky nods slowly and Steve glances over at Tony, knowing that if he and Bucky decide to leave, Pepper will be on top of controlling the media for them.

“If you don’t leave,” Natasha continues, tapping her finger on the table. “Then you won’t have as much of an excuse for avoiding media interviews. You’ll either have to give them what they want, or be critiqued for refusing to comment, and given your history, I imagine some of those interviews could get kind of hairy.”

Bucky grimaces and looks away, his eyes dropping to his metal hand as he thinks over what she had said.

“Besides,” Tony speaks up again, drawing the room to him. “We can always say we originally planned for you to head off before this all started.” He waves a hand. “The Accords are in place, neither of you signed, it’s the perfect reason to want to vacation for a while.”

Steve nods as he thinks over his words, and Bucky shifts next to him. “My semester at Lincoln tech is almost over,” he says, and Steve’s eyes widen, because he had completely forgotten about Bucky’s schooling. His eyes flicker over his friend, and he imagines that going back will feel strange after everything that has happened.

“It’s June,” Bucky continues. “So I only have a few finals left to do for my summer classes. If I finish those, then we could go to Wakanda for the summer.” His eyes flick over Steve and he shrugs. “After that we can decide when we want to come back. I can take a semester off if we need.”

Steve nods at the plan, although privately he hopes that they won't have to stay through the fall semester. Bucky’s classes usually have a physical component to them, so it is unlikely that he would be able to do them online, but he is close to graduating now, and Steve would hate for Rumlow to have messed that up.

“So… I guess we’ll go then,” he says finally, looking around the table at the Avengers around him, silence settling heavily over the table. It feels weird doing this. He had never imagined leaving them like this, never for this reason. And even though they will be coming back, it still feels—

“Oh for heavens sake!” Tony bursts out, throwing his hands in the air and jerking their gazes over to him. “It’s not like they’re falling off the face of the planet. We can still call and text while they’re gone.” He looks up at Steve, catching his eye. “And they’re coming back.”

Steve meets his gaze and nods. “And we’re coming back,” he confirms.

oOo

He texts T’Challa and makes arrangements to be picked up by him and taken to Wakanda a few days after Bucky’s last exam. T’Challa seems pleased at their acceptance, and with the date set, all that is left to do is wait for Bucky to finish school.

He hardly knows anything about Wakanda, and even with T’Challa’s help he still feels slightly clueless as he works on figuring out what to pack. Part of the problem is that going to Wakanda still feels unreal, in a way. Even though they’ve made the choice and set the day, it still doesn’t feel real. He… hasn’t actually traveled for personal reasons much. For missions and for war, yes. But not for this. 

It may feel odd to prepare for such a big change, but change seems to be the theme of the compound lately. It is inevitable, thanks to the Accords, and Steve finds that he is not the only one with new plans thanks to their implementation.

“I’ve been thinking of working more with the Other Guy,” Bruce tells him one day over coffee. “I don’t know if you remember, but when you guys were telling us about the time travel, Fury said that there were reports of another Hulk in the city.”

Steve nods, and Bruce gives him a crooked smile as he continues. “I eventually found the files after JARVIS pulled them when SHIELD fell. I think it’s fair to say that the Other Guy is a different one.” He shrugs and his eyes go slightly distant. “He looks… calm. I don’t know how to explain it. He just looks… more balanced. I want to see if I can figure it out.”

Steve reaches for his coffee and takes a sip, glad that he can spend a little bit of time with the Avengers before he leaves. “You’re not worried about being bothered by the UN or anything while you try?” he asks.

Bruce shrugs and shakes his head. “As long as I do it on the compound, and as long as I don’t injure anyone, then I should be fine. I didn’t sign the Accords, so I don’t owe them anything, and despite what Thaddeus Ross likes to think, he doesn’t own the Other Guy. It’s my choice what I want to do with my body.”

Steve’s mouth quirks up a tad bitterly and he nods, understanding Bruce’s feelings all too well. The line between personal and scientific property had become uncomfortably blurry with a few of the officers and medical staff around him during the war. Part of him is honestly a little surprised Ross hadn't tried to claim ownership over his body too, since he had tried to do so for Bruce in the past.

He suppresses a shiver at the thought and gets distracted away from the dark subject as JARVIS announces the arrival of two newcomers to the compound. “Mr. Lang and Miss Lang here to visit,” he says, a distinct note of warmness in his tone as he refers to Scott Lang’s daughter.

Steve smiles and sets down his mug, sitting up as he turns his head to where he knows Scott and his daughter will soon be appearing. After making contact with the Avengers, Scott hadn't exactly begun working with them – because the owner of his suit had objected – but he had kept in contact, and was very much willing to check in every once and a while.

He had only had to mention his daughter a few times before Tony had insisted that they meet her, and she had won their hearts easily. Steve is even pretty sure that she had had a few playdates with Clint’s kids, delighted to safely share news of her own superhero father with other children.

Cassie bounds in, and Steve smiles at the little girl’s energy. “Hello!” she calls, her brown hair flying as she skips towards the table, Scott following behind at a more leisured pace. The two of them smile and greet her warmly, before Cassie glances around. “Is Bucky here?” she asks. “Dad says he’s going on a trip, and I wanna say goodbye first.”

Steve’s mouth quirks up at her question. It had been no surprise to him when Cassie and Bucky had become fast friends. Bucky had always been good with children, and that hadn't changed even after Hydra.

“I think he’s in his room studying,” he tells her. “But I’m sure if you ask JARVIS to call him, he’ll come. I’m sure he wants to see you too.”

Cassie grins and turns away, moving over to hop on one of the couches as she calls to JARVIS to ask for Bucky. Next to the table, Scott watches her with a soft expression, before he turns back to them, taking a seat next to Bruce. “I’m glad I caught you guys,” he says, his eyes flitting between the two of them with his usual nervous energy. “With how crazy these Accords have been, I wasn’t sure.”

Steve nods and takes a sip of his coffee. “Did the UN finally contact you about them?” he asks. “Have you made a decision?”

Scott shrugs, running his hands along his pants. “They did,” he says. “And I’m kind of bummed about having to be more careful about experiments and stuff now, but I’m not going to be signing them either.” He rubs his hands together, glancing over at Cassie before looking back at them. “Hank wouldn’t ever sign his suit over to them anyways,” he says, before flicking his eyes to Steve. “And to be honest Cap, if they’re too sketchy for you to sign, then I’m not going to risk it.”

Steve’s eyes drift over to where Cassie is waiting on the couch, and he isn’t surprised at Scott’s choice. He goes to drink his coffee again, when an exclamation from the couch sends his eyes back over, and he watches as Cassie leaps off, a smile on her face as Bucky steps into the room.

“You’re here!” she calls, darting over. “Dad said I could try to visit you, but he wasn’t sure if you’d be busy.” She reaches up to grab his right hand, her eyes flicking over him. “You’re not wearing your arm today.”

Bucky smiles down at her and lifts her hand slightly. “No, not today,” he says.

Steve’s eyes flick to the pinned sleeve of Bucky’s left arm, and he takes a sip of his drink. Bucky had been leaving his arm off more often since Vienna – although his check up with Tony had gone well. The decision seems to be mostly a personal choice, since he will still put it on when he needs to, but he leaves it off for the most part. Steve is certain part of it stems from everything that had happened back in Europe, but he isn’t too worried.

Both he and Bucky had been sure to set up appointments with their respective therapists after everything had gone down, as well as schedule virtual appointments for during their stay in Wakanda, so he knows that right now what they both really need is simply time.

Back by Bucky, Cassie doesn’t seem bothered by the missing arm – it isn’t the first time he’s gone without it around her after all – and she leans her head around him to look over at the table, her eyes catching on Bruce. “Can we go visit your gardens?” she asks, swinging Bucky’s hand slightly. “You said you were growing tomatoes.”

Bruce chuckles and gives his consent, his eyes crinkling as Cassie gives a cheer and begins to tug Bucky back towards the door, chatting excitedly about the gardens Bruce had started for himself on the grounds.

“So is that what you’ll be doing?” Scott speaks up, drawing their attention back to him. He shifts a little awkwardly and taps his fingers on the table. “You know, since you’re not signing the Accords.”

Bruce smiles and begins to explain his plans with the Hulk, and Scott sits up, his hands waving as he details some of the experiments that Hank wants to do with the suit. “I mean, it’s our suit,” he finishes. “They shouldn’t be able to take it away as long as we’re not fighting with it, and, anyway, we’re going to keep a low profile about it.”

Steve sits back and listens as Bruce begins to ask scientific questions that are beyond his understanding – and mostly seem to be beyond Scott too, and he flicks his eyes over his friends. He is glad at least that Scott will be able to keep his suit and even work with it a little, but it is too bad that he won’t be able to fight with it.

His mind flashes back to the small figure they had seen in the time traveling scenes, and he wonders about that a little. Evidently their time traveling selves had been working together and still fighting, so either they didn’t have the Accords in that timeline…or something had happened, and they had needed to fight anyways.

Personally, if something major were to happen, and the Avengers were to need his help, then Steve doubts the Accords would stand in his way. He flicks his eyes up to Scott and he imagines the same would be similar for him, if something were to threaten his daughter.

oOo

Scott isn’t the only one on a similar wavelength. “Will you be alright?” Steve asks, leaning against the doorframe of Sam’s room as he watches his friend pack.

Next to his bed, Sam looks up and flashes him a smile. “Yeah,” he says. “You forget, I probably have the most transferable skills out of all of you. The VA in Manhattan said they’d take me back already.”

Steve nods and folds his arms, his eyes flicking over the room. “You know that doesn’t leave you off the hook, right?” he says. “You’ll still be expected over for holidays and family dinners. I’m pretty sure Tony will hunt you down if you don’t regularly supply us with your mother’s brownies.”

Sam laughs and shakes his head, leaning back as he stretches out his back a little. “Believe me,” he says. “I doubt very much that I could get rid of you guys. I’ve seen Natasha's tracking skills.”

He rolls his shoulders and shrugs, moving to grab some books off of his bookshelf. “And, anyways,” he continues. “Tony is keeping my wings in storage. If the Accords ever get revised into something I’m comfortable with, or if something happens…” He looks up at Steve. “I’ll be there,” he says. “Same as everyone else.”     

Steve swallows and nods. “Yeah,” he says roughly.

oOo

He makes sure Tony knows the same is true for him. “I don’t really care about the Accords,” he tells him, standing in Tony’s lab, his one hand on U as he looks over to where Tony is sitting. “If I get in trouble later, that’s fine, but if you need me for something – even if I’m in Wakanda, please call.”

Tony offers him a thin smile and leans his chin on his hand. “You sure Bucky won’t give me a Glare of Disappointment for getting you in trouble?” he says, his eyes flicking over him. “You don’t have to worry, you know. It’s good that you can have a break.”

Steve huffs out a breath and shakes his head, rubbing his hand along U’s arm. “If there’s something big enough that you need me to come out of retirement for, then I think Bucky will be right beside me,” he says. “He once told me he’d fight aliens with us if he had to.”

Tony’s mouth crooks up at that, and Steve swallows, giving U one last pat before turning to step over towards Tony’s table, settling down in front of him. “Actually,” he says, breathing in and glancing over the man. “I wanted to talk to you before I left... I think you need to be careful Tony.”

Tony blinks and Steve looks down, his hands coming up to twist together on the table. “I won’t be able to hunt Hydra with you anymore,” he says. “Not like I used to anyways, but…” He glances up and catches Tony’s gaze. “I think you should dig around the UN, and probably the CIA for Hydra heads,” he states.

Tony sits up straighter and Steve’s mouth twists, his eyes dropping back down to his hands. “We don’t know everything about Rumlow’s plan,” he says, his thumb running over his knuckles. “We don’t know if he knew the UN was working on the Accords when he blew Lagos but…” He looks up at Tony. “In order for his plan to work, he had to know that Bucky wouldn’t be in that building with us in Vienna.”

In front of him, Tony stays silent, his eyes fixed on his own, and Steve sighs, lifting his hand to run it through his hair. “I don’t know if the security agent that wouldn’t let him in is Hydra, but you should look into it.” He drops his hand. “Also the fact that Rumlow got into Bucky’s cell with a gun. Someone must have covered for that. Even the security guards that didn’t go into Bucky’s cell before we got there are a little suspicious.”

Tony nods and Steve huffs out a breath. “If Hydra has infiltrated any part of the UN or the CIA then…” He flicks his eyes over Tony. “Then they could have had a hand in the Accords as well,” he says. “And they might not take too kindly to you trying to change them. I know why you signed the Accords, and I think you can do a lot with them, but please be careful.”

After his speech, Tony sighs and runs a hand over his face, his shoulders slouching. “Yeah,” he says tiredly, dropping his hand to look at Steve. “I thought there was something fishy going on with Rumlow too.” His eyes flick away for a moment before darting back to Steve. “I’ll keep an eye on it. I think Ross, Everett Ross, is going to be doing his own investigation, so it won’t be too suspicious if I dig around a little.”

He mumbles something about the other Ross, and shakes his head. “That guy is a piece of work,” he says. “Even just knowing what he did to Bruce… I think he’ll have some skeletons in his closet too, even if they aren’t Hydra. I think if I dig, I can make his life difficult, and hopefully temper the Accords a little.”

Steve nods at that, and can’t help smiling a little. A vindictive Tony is a sight to behold, and Thaddeus Ross deserves every bit of it.

He lets out a breath, relieved to know that Tony will be keeping an eye on things. “Thank you, Tony,” he says, leaning forward slightly. Tony shrugs, but he continues. “I mean it,” he says quietly. “Knowing you’ll be here dealing with the Accords and Ross is part of the reason I can even stand to leave.” He swallows. “It’s… hard, knowing Hydra is still out there.”

Tony’s mouth twitches upwards, although his eyes remain soft. “Well, if anyone deserves a vacation, it’s you,” he says. “And it’s not like you’ll be completely in the dark. You might not be able to be on the team, but there’s nothing Secretary Ross can do to keep me from consulting you in the privacy of my own compound.”

Steve smiles at that, and his shoulders loosen. “Well.” He leans back. “If I deserve a vacation, then I’m sure you could use something similar.” He catches Tony’s eye. “Don’t work too hard, okay? You have Nat and Rhodey, and Pepper and her team to help you. Take care of yourself.”

Tony’s eyes flick over him and his mouth presses up into a gentle smile. “I will,” he says softly.

oOo

The day of the trip seems to arrive suddenly, and Steve finds himself standing in the compound hangar, his bags at his feet and Bucky at his side, the Avengers clustered around them as they wait for T’Challa’s ship to touch down.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” Clint says, shoving his hands in his pockets, glancing away from the landing ship to look at Steve. “You know, most people buy a big car for their midlife crisis, going to a country you know almost nothing about is a little over the top.”

Steve’s mouth quirks upwards and Bucky laughs, shoving his shoulder. “Steve has always been overdramatic,” he teases, his voice raised to be heard over the sound of the jet. “Besides, we went into all sorts of countries we didn’t know during the war, I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

Steve grins and shakes his head, looking over to the plane, the engines beginning to power down as it settles. “T’Challa seemed to think we’d enjoy it,” he says. “And I’m sure there are sides to it that the media hasn’t shown us.”

Bucky nods, and in front of them, the door to the jet begins to lower. Steve isn’t exactly sure if the ship is T’Challa’s personally, but the man had insisted that he fly them to Wakanda himself, rather than have them come on their own.

He watches him come out, and he smiles as the man comes over, his eyes flicking over the group. “It is good to see you again, Captain,” he says, meeting his eyes. He nods back, and T’Challa makes quiet conversation with the Avengers about his upcoming coronation for a few minutes as he and Bucky turn to start gathering their bags.

He knows already that he and Bucky won’t be invited to the coronation, since their invitation to Wakanda is more or less a private, somewhat secrete, affair, but he is curious as to what else they will be able to do in Wakanda. T’Challa’s only words on the matter had been that ‘things will be clearer once they get there’.

It doesn’t take long to gather their things, and soon, their bags are stored on the ship, the Avengers clustered outside as Steve stands on the walkway.

“We’ll be coming back in a month or two,” he says, looking over them. “I know—” He swallows and breathes in, moving to put his hands in his pockets. “I know things have been changing a lot, and we won’t be able to be a team like we used to be but…” His eyes trail over the group and he offers them a small smile. “I just want you to know that, well, that doesn’t matter. We’re more than a team. And I’m proud to have you by my side, no matter what.”

He heavily suspects that he has managed to make a few of them cry, and his own eyes are feeling rather wet as he smiles at them.

In front of him, Tony shifts and he looks up. “See you when you come back,” he says, and Steve nods.

“See you then,” he says.

oOo

He sits with Bucky on the plane and he watches the clouds float outside the window as T’Challa flies them away. It’s a long flight, but as the sky begins to shift into a rich orange and the sun begins to set, T’Challa informs them that they are soon to reach their destination.

Steve breathes in. This is really happening. He is really doing this.

He leans slightly into Bucky’s shoulder, his eyes still on the orange sky. “You saw Hannah right before you left, right?” he asks.

Beside him, Bucky nods. “I visited her and the family a few times,” he says. “She was pretty worried, but she’s doing better now. She’s insisting I take pictures for her.”

Steve smiles and shifts, his eyes darting over a passing cloud. “We’ll have to ask T’Challa if that’s okay,” he says. “Since Wakanda is pretty private.”

Bucky nods and smiles. “Yeah. Gotta admit I’m curious. I don’t think I ever went there as the Asset.”

Steve shakes his head. He doubts Hydra would have ever had a reason to send Bucky to Wakanda. The country seems to be relatively poor, and even its vibranium seems to be more or less depleted, so the country wouldn't be much of a temptation for the organisation.

Still… T’Challa had seemed to imply that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to his country, so Steve wouldn’t be surprised if—

Up front, T’Challa turns to him. “We’re here,” he says.

Steve blinks and leans forward, before standing up with Bucky, the two of them coming forward to stand behind T’Challa’s seat. Outside the window, green trees rush under them as a rainforest spans for miles all around.

It is beautiful, but it doesn’t exactly seem like a destination, and Steve’s brow furls in confusion for a second as he opens his mouth to ask T’Challa where they plan to land.

The words don’t get a chance to leave his mouth, because T’Challa seems to be aiming for the trees, and Steve’s eyes widen, his shoulder’s stiffening as—

The ship breaks through some kind of holo-shield, and the trees vanish, revealing instead a sprawling city next to a glistening river, the sun’s light bathing everything in an orange glow. In front of them, T’Challa continues to expertly pilot the ship, a mischievous grin now finding place on his face.

“Welcome to Wakanda,” he says, an almost playful note to his voice. Steve’s mouth falls open, and next to him, Bucky throws back his head and laughs, his hand coming up to clasps his shoulder.

“I think I’m going to like this place,” he says, and Steve finds his own smile growing as he darts his eyes over the hidden landscape.

“Me too,” he says warmly.

The End