#or do extremely heavy lifting on the damage department with none of the fun of it

[theswedishpajas]

Lil doodles from last night

[kashimos-hajime]

immeasurable firsts | s.r.

Summary: All your firsts with Steve Rogers and all the heartbreak and happiness that comes with it.

A/N: For the writing challenge hosted by the fabulous @imhereforbvcky and the wonderful @justsomebucky. 

Dedicating this to @wxntersoldiers because I still have to write for her and I hope this’ll make up for how late I’m gonna submit it in! (I’ll get to it soon!!!!)

WARNINGS: Swearing, blood, violence, death, extreme angst but some happy stuff too.

Word Count: 11.6k Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark-sister! Reader Prompt: The most ridiculous part of this whole situation is that I love you.

Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Four easy words to describe Tony Stark.

You, on the other hand. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist all fit. Playboy? Perhaps. You prefer socialite. The paparazzi has always had their bite at you but that doesn’t mean that none of it is true.

You are Y/N Stark, younger sister of one Anthony Edward Stark, one certified pain in the ass, and one big brother. He was basically everything you had ever since your parents died. He raised you. He was your dad, and mom, and brother all at once, and you know that no one could’ve done it better. From what you know and what Tony tells you about your dad, you’re better off.

But your mom… you miss her every day.

On a full-ride to MIT just like him, you succeeded him in every way, graduating summa cum laude just like him, but while he did it when he was seventeen, you did it when you were eighteen. He always held that fact over you, but not after you mentioned that while he hacked into the Pentagon for a dare, you hacked into the Harry S. Truman building for fun. State department had a field day with that one.

As Stark Industries head of Research and Development, you occupy all of four floors and helped more than 12% to make Stark Towers the first building powered by self-sustainable clean energy, but you’d let your brother take all that credit if it meant your brother gets some with Pepper.

“Ma’am, Agent Coulson is on the line. Mr. Stark deferred him to you.” Swiping the holoscreen to close it, you look up from where you’re working on new schematics for your suit.

“Tony’s in.”

“Mr. Stark insists on refusing the call, and Agent Coulson insists on seeing him.”

Rolling your eyes, you pull up another holoscreen that linked you to the surveillance feed. Switching through the cameras, you swipe for Tony’s private elevator. You spot the agent standing outside the elevator, texting away on his phone and you turn on your mic with a smile.

“Hey, Phil,” you greet and the agent looked up, turning to the camera.

“Ms. Stark.” He gives you a little wave and you straighten up, putting your stylus away and turning off your tablet. Moving the surveillance feed to your phone, you walk to the couch you had in your office, sitting down and pulling your laptop on with you. Opening it up, you log in. “If you could ask your brother to pick up the phone, that’d be a great help.”

“You know Tony doesn’t listen to me.” Opening up the files Tony had sent you earlier, blueprints for Stark Tower and the grocery list for next week, you roll your eyes at the note at the end. ‘Pep said it’s my turn to do nothing for a whole week,’ it reads. Your fingers work away on your keyboard as you return your attention to Phil. “I’m going to disable J.A.R.V.I.S.’s protocols and give random people access to his private elevator because he’s annoyed me just now. You do whatever you want with that information.”

“Thank you. And you might need to join me, Ms. Stark.”

“Is it something important? Because my consulting hours don’t normally run this long. Also, I thought I said I didn’t want anymore S.H.I.E.L.D. assignments.” Tapping away on your keyboard, you have the elevator doors open and bypass the A.I.’s protocols.

“It’s urgent.”

“When do I ever care about that?” you retort. The call ends and you get up anyway, glaring at your phone. With a heavy sigh, you slip the device into your pocket before looking at the few holo screens you have open around the office. The levels of the reactor are stable, and you watch as they fluctuated, readjusting every once in a while.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., shut the place down. After I go see Tony, I’m heading home.”

“Of course, Ms. Stark.”

You live essentially next door to the tower, and it isn’t important for you to bring anything home, so you grab your keys and purse before leaving your office of glass doors and walls and windows. The lights turn off behind you as you jab the elevator button, ready to head up to say goodnight to Tony and see what Phil Coulson thought was so urgent.

.

The Avengers Initiative.

And they thought Tony was a good fit?

“Volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others,” you recite as you read over the files in Tony’s penthouse on the top floor of Stark Towers. “If he wanted the better of the Starks, he would’ve chosen me,” you tease. Tony sighs, wiping a hand over his face and you frown. Sigh in that tone means frustration, exhaustion, and he’s feeling overwhelmed.

“What is it?” Looking to see what’s caught your brother’s attention, you swallow and get up, walking around the couch to touch the hologram of the thing that your father had found instead of a man. “The Tesseract,” you whisper, suddenly finding your mouth very dry. Blinking, you twist the hologram around before pulling back. Your father had been obsessed with the thing. Hell, he probably loved it more than he ever loved the two of you. Your brother’s pulled back, too, arms crossed as his dark gaze flickers over the other portfolios.

“Some crack team, huh,” he mutters but your eyes can’t tear away from the blue glowing cube. Your dad always talked about it — well, it and Captain America, who happened to be in one of the portfolios, but you can’t help the nagging feeling that the cube is better left in the ocean where no one can find it. After all, they wouldn’t have to drag your brother into this mess if it was.

“Tony,” you call out when your brother moves for the bar. He pulls up a bottle of scotch and silently asks if you want a drink. Shaking your head, you bite your lip and gather what nerves you have left to ask the question. “Should I be worried?”

There is no answer.

.

“Hey, how was it?” you ask when Tony returns to the Helicarrier. The suit decompresses and you smirk, arching a brow. “Get the bad guy?”

“Yeah, and a plus one. Oh, uh—” Tony turns to the other guys piling out of the Quinjet. The clanging of chains catch your attention as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents swarm the jet, escorting the prisoner out. Loki, you realize. Following him is a tall blond and an even taller blond, though the taller one follows after Loki. Thor. Had to be. Your brother gestures to the two— “the rest of the crack team. You talk to Banner, yet?”

“Not yet. They told me he was down in the lab, but I was working on my suit. I’ve a new set of schematics I wanna try out, if you have the time.”

“You only made a suit to copy me,” he teases and you nudge him playfully. “Yeah, sure. If we have time, after the world finishes it’s self-destruction, or whatever, we should take it out for a spin.”

“Thanks, Ant.” He sighs at the nickname but you squeeze his arm, watching him go. He needs to get that suit off, and you need to get that decryption implant on the motherboard. If Tony’s going into this, he isn’t going into it blind. Anyone who’s working with the Tesseract, especially an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D., wouldn’t use this for clean energy. And you’ve worked missions with them before. You know that eco-friendly energy is the last thing on their mind. Howard Stark may have wanted it for clean energy, but if an intergalactic war is being had…

You put a pin on that train of your thought as your gaze drifted back to the armory. The shorter blond nodded to you with a smile, and you put on a fresh face for Steve Rogers, World War Two Hero, actual soldier-type with a cute smile. Tilting your head, you walk up to him and stick out a hand. In your heels, you could’ve tried to be as tall as him but his presence adds two inches to his height.

“Captain Rogers, honor to meet you.”

“Steve,” he amends as he quirks an eyebrow. “And you are? Sorry, it’s been a whirlwind couple of days.”

“Y/N Stark,” you say, shaking his hand. He’s warm and his blue eyes fix on yours as you take in his features. He’s even cuter up close. “And no problem. Not everyone can spend their time as a Capsicle.”

“Your brother made the same joke,” Steve says as you begin to walk down the hall with him.

“He only got the chance because he met you first.” Heading down to the briefing room, you glance at him to find him staring back. Arching an eyebrow, you wait until he notices and a brilliant blush spreads across his cheeks, but you smirk, brushing the hair away from your face and leading him to the room where your brother is waiting.

.

After the Battle of New York — that’s what the news is calling it, you call it an inconvenience — the dust settled to reveal the true damage of it. There’s a lot of rebuilding to do, specifically the area around Stark Tower, which means a lot of money is needed to repair downtown New York. Of course, the best way to get the rich to donate money is a charity ball, and the fact that it’s able to be doubled as a celebration ball makes Tony absolutely gleeful. You, on the other hand, would rather be anywhere but here. The destruction caused in Stark Tower has given you nothing but a headache and whilst Tony and the Avengers had gone for shawarma, you’d suited up to begin lifting the rubble and seeing the true damage underneath the whole ‘saving the planet’. Which you can respect, by the way, but you didn’t want to test out the new suit by lifting up heavy concrete and wires.

Now, all you want to do head back, take an Advil, and sleep the day off. Whilst the Avengers had decided to steal the show, you never said a thing about how Tony literally flew into a fucking wormhole.

You still need to yell at him for that one. Maybe cry. And hug him. For a long time.

“You need to relax,” Tony mumble through his smile as the three of you gathered your bearings to get out of the limousine.

“You need to stop making us late,” you retort. “And wormhole, remember? You’re still in for it.”

He sends you a sheepish smile, his eyes pleading apology, but you ignore it, stepping out. Pepper holds onto Tony’s arm to get out, whilst you pick up the edges of your dress, a brilliant scarlet dress, with a slit up the side of your leg and elegantly pull yourself up.

Adjusting the gold cuff on your wrist, you grab your gold clutch and shade your eyes against the flashes. Tony and Pep are already walking through the paparazzi, up the stairs to the venue for the Avengers, the cameras snapping away. Used to it, you tuck your hair behind your ear to showcase your outfit. In scarlet and gold, you shine under the flashes.

“Ms. Stark!” one of the photographers call out and you pause, striking a small pose before continuing on. The tire screeches behind you signify another arrival and you turn with a small smile, wondering who it could be. The black car’s window slide down, revealing a star-struck Steve Rogers and he steps out, squinting against the flashing lights. Raising a hand in half a wave and half a means to block the light, the super-soldier’s gaze dart across the scene before landing on you. You extend your hand to him, smiling. He speed-walks over to you, grateful for a friendly face and he offers an arm for you to take, escorting you inside.

“I’m glad you got out safe,” you begin, tucking a curl behind you ear as he focuses on getting up to the stairs. You throw a wave to the crowd, before adding, “I was maybe a tiny bit worried about you. More so about Tony, but then I wonder why.” You pretend to tap your chin in curiosity and he chuckles.

“I’m flattered. And you’re beautiful,” he mumbles under his breath, cheeks red but you can’t tell if it’s because of you or the cameras. Smiling softly, you press your head against his shoulder for a moment before lifting it again to look at the soldier. “I dunno if anyone’s told you that yet.”

“No one that matters,” you tell him and you pause to kiss his cheek. His shy smile makes you smile wider, the endearing expression on his face causing warmth to spread through you. Cameras take snapshots of your moment and you internally sigh. There comes one of the cons of being a public figure. You have no doubt some stupid hashtag like #Rogerstark or, you don’t know, #Ironcaptain, will be trending on twitter by the night’s end. “And you look good, too. Real good.”

“Uh,” he chuckles, blushing and you laugh. “Thanks.”

“Overwhelmed, yet?” You climb the steps, using Steve’s hand to steady yourself before he opens the door for you. You hold his hand to bring him in and the pap calls after the two of you even when the door closes. If he’s gonna give the press content, you might as well have fun with it. Even if he doesn’t mean too — he’s just being the gentleman he is.

“A bit, yeah, but not by the cameras.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you’re insulted or not. “By me?”

“In the best way. Gotta impress the most gorgeous woman in the room,” he promises and you hold him to that promise. “I’m sure the cameras will get worse, too. But you seem to be doing just fine,” he says and you chuckle. Patting his arm, you lead him, following the signs that say This Way or something of the variant.

“I grew up going to this kinda stuff. I’m used to it by now. But if you keep being you, the press is gonna eat you up.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re a real gentleman, Rogers,” you sing. The foyer is filled with tons of guests, some drinking while others are eating some nuts or chips, and there’s an open door leading to the white carpet. Of course, they’re waiting for all the Avengers to go on first, and you can hear the anxious muttering of the paparazzi outside the room.

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

“Well, people like prying into other people’s lives,” you continue and he nods. His gaze darts across the room just as a server comes by with a tray of champagne. Disentangling your arm from Steve’s, you take two. “Steve, I’m just saying, the paps love to make speculations about Tony and I. Sometimes, it’s the only thing keeping them open, and a lot of people don’t like the attention, the stalkers, the fans.” Offering the champagne, you give him a forced smile. “A lot of people don’t wanna stay because of it.”

“What if I want to?”

“What?” You nearly let out a laugh but Steve looks totally serious as his gaze catches yours. They’re darker, more intense, but there’s still that sense of light to him. Like he’s having fun getting the shock out of you.

“I said, what if I wanted to stay? I’m an Avenger now. Might as well get used to it and I think we’re stuck with each other.”

You drain your champagne, blink, and then stare at him as if he’s grown a second head. “I have no illusions on being a celebrity, Y/N. I’ve had a few experiences of my own, and it may be a bit different from back then, but I know.”

“It’s a lot different, Steve.”

“Maybe not so much.” He takes your hand and the champagne, leading you to the side of the room where there are small high tables where people can stand and chat over food, and he places his full flute and your empty one on the tablecloth. “Y/N, I’m just saying, let the press eat it up. We know what we are.”

And what’s that? you wonder helplessly as he says that they should get to the carpet. Tony and Pepper have already started, and Steve visibly recoils. Looping your arm through his, you send him a reassuring smirk, if possible.

“You might have to squint, Cap,” you whisper nefariously and he sends you a roll of his eyes as you put on your celebrity face. It hides your inner turmoil well as you kill over Steve’s words. With the most handsome man in the room on your arm, you send smolder and smolder whilst the soldier tries to ease into his smiles. It’s easier once you get him laughing at your jokes, and it’s hard to imagine you’d ever dreaded going to the event at all.

.

To say you and Steve see each other over the next few years would be an understatement. Seeing as how you are in Washington occasionally, flying back and forth for work, the Triskelion is one of the few places you’d actually get excited to see once in a while. You’re actually in Washington when Steve’s called away on a mission. Sitwell’s called you in for an emergency consult. Well, he called Tony. You picked up the call. And what you came to was Nick Fury’s deathbed.

The image makes you shudder.

Suiting up, you propel yourself out of your Washington flat and fly towards the Triskelion. At night, Washington looks like any other city, breathtaking and alight with life. The Washington Monument’s glow casts its base in warm light as you fly over it, slowing down to admire your view and postpone going to the Triskelion. Ever since Steve knocked out the S.T.R.I.K.E. team in the elevator, you’ve been feeling like there had to be a reason.

Your reflection in the water is barely visible except for the glow of your repulsors, eyes, and arc reactor, and you float above it, the squirming feeling in your stomach ever growing.

Why do you have the feeling just like the one before the Battle of New York?

A number you don’t recognize calls you, but you pick up anyway, having A.N.A encrypt your location just in case as you fight off the feeling. Tony’s safe in New York — as safe as he can be fixing up the quarters for the Avengers who still drop by from time to time. Just one night of consultation, and then you’re back there with him, eating microwave dinners and working on new things.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Steve? Where are you?” Shaking yourself, you continue on your way to the Triskelion just as his voice echoes in your ears again.

“Sam’s. And you need to listen to me.”

“Are you okay?” you ask despite yourself. You haven’t seen him since the hospital, and if you’re honest with yourself, you kinda miss him. Plus, he wasn’t looking too great when you’d left.

You hold his hand, stepping closer as he stares at Natasha’s back. The red-haired woman’s head is bowed to hide her tears and you look to Steve. His eyes stare back at you but he doesn’t truly see you as you wrap your other hand around his arm, resting your head against his shoulder. He squeezes your hand tighter. You simply close your eyes and press your cheek against his jacket as your fingers interlace. He looks down, and you raise your head to see what he’s looking at.

A silver USB lies in his hand and your eyebrows knit together when you look at the make. S.H.I.E.L.D. made. When he catches you staring, however, he shoves it back into your pocket. A silent question that he ignores lays within your eyes.

“I didn’t want to leave the hospital so soon, but consultation couldn’t wait on the pumping problem,” you continue, diving into the water surrounding the building as your suit readjusts the air pressure and you turn on your headlamps. The water before you filters out the moon as you dive deeper.

“It’s fine. I just wanted to check up with you.”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m heading underwater and the slightest malfunction of the suit could kill me?” you ask, initiating the lights in your repulsors. Steve lets out a sigh of a laugh quietly on the other end as you squint, making out the shape of the pipelines.

“You made that suit, Y/N. I know it won’t,” he replies, but he sounds tense and you make yourself redirect the conversation. Your HUD emits a gentle light as it does a preliminary scan on the pipelines.

“Thanks, Steve. So… where are you now? I mean, now that you’re on the run.”

“That’s what I’ve got to talk to you about.”

Pulling up, you frown. No leaks and the Stark Industry sustainable filter is running flawlessly. You’d installed it yourself, along with the other convertors along the lines. Turning off your mic, you raise your arm.

“A.N.A., can you run a scan? Sitwell said it was in this area, and I’m not sure if I’m being delusional.”

“Of course, Ms. Stark.” The repulsor gauntlet shoots out a grid of blue light, a bar of blue scanning the pipes as you work your way down the whole area. Resuming your call with Steve, you clear your throat.

“Sorry, Steve, what is it? Is it about why you gave Rumlow the black eye he deserves?” you joke.

“Y/N, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised.” Your heart stops. Maybe you are delusional.

“What?”

“Whatever you do, don’t take another assignment from them. You need to leave D.C. now.”

“Steve, I—”

“There is an unknown object approaching your vector.” A.N.A.’s warning interrupts whatever you were going to say, and kick starts your wired brain. You twist around, all sources of light shutting off at once with a quiet whir. Letting yourself sink, you steady your breathing and turn on your night vision just as something explodes right next to you. It sends you tumbling, your head rattling in your suit as you spin in the water, trying to regain your sense of up and down.

“A.N.A., find the source!” Managing to stabilize yourself to a stop, you shake your head. Something’s trickling down your temple, and there’s a familiar ache in your arm that was closest to the blast. You still can’t hear well aside from the ringing and you strain to hear.

“Already on it.”

Y/N, what’s going on?” Steve asks but his voice crackles over the line and you wince, trying to ignore how grating it is on your ears as blue shapes are highlighted on your HUD. Submarines by the looks of it. S.H.I.E.L.D. warships armed with missiles, mines, and torpedos.

Fuck, really? In the Potomac? You have no time for questions like that, though, and with every second you waste sinking to the bottom, it’s another second feeling like the water’s going to seep into your suit and asphyxiate you. Another missile launches towards you and you swerve out of the way, letting it land in the riverbed.

“I was in Washington for a consultation on the Triskelion’s pump system,” you whisper. “Fucking great that they’re compromised now, huh?”

“Engaging boosters.” Your ankles lock together, you press your hands against your sides and look up as you propel yourself to the surface. You’re a great white beacon of light and heat now that you’ve given up all hope of defeating war subs in your mechanic armor. “Missiles fired. They’ve tracked your infrared signature, ma’am.”

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice cracks the comms again as moonbeams begin to break through. “What’s going?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. subs are on me. Five. Shit!” A missile strikes your foot and you let out a yelp as the booster fails. Veering off, you try to get back on course. “Targeting system. They know all the weak points of this suit. Fuck! My booster’s down.” Swerving out of the way of another swarm of missiles, you run diagnostics on your failed repulsor node just as A.N.A. gives out another warning that another barrage is incoming. Your heart beats in your throat, blood dripping over and down your neck, and you try to unscramble your thoughts. S.H.I.E.L.D. is attacking you. S.H.I.E.L.D. is attacking you. Holy shit.

Tony’s going to be so pissed.

“Can you fire back?”

“It’s my repair suit. It’s not meant for battle. I didn’t think I’d get attacked by fucking S.H.I.E.L.D.!” The second barrage nearly gets you and you let out a breath of relief when they all whiz past, only for a bigger cruise missile to slam into your side. Infrared tech on a cruise missile with diamond nibs. These are war-grade, way above anyone’s pay-grade and slice through your suit like it’s soft cheese. It digs into you and you let out a terrified gasp.

It’s a small explosion, granted, but it no doubt shatters your ribs and blows something apart inside you. Ears ringing, you scream over the sound of A.N.A. giving you a status report on the suit, but over your own hoarse voice, you know that water’s surging into your suit, your ribs are shattered, and you’re probably going to die. A.N.A. quarantines the water, sealing you from the neck up as you frantically touch your wound. Your A.I. has already dispatched the emergency lock, your second skin of armor spanning over your abdomen and binding your insides together.

“Injuries?”

“Shattered ribs, multiple third-degree burns and massive internal damage.”

“Communications?” you wheeze, trying to breathe but your lungs struggle against the ribs that float around in your chest cavity as you clutch at the wound. A.N.A. had been as fast as she could, closing over the wound as soon as she detected it, but dirty, freezing river water still got in. It laps at your wounds, soothing the burns and washing through your insides simultaneously. Melting from the inside out, you suck in your scream and blink, trying to ignore the tears streaming down your face as you pray for the adrenaline to kick in.

“Offline. They’ve scrambled the frequency.”

“Unscramble it! We need to tell Steve he needs to get out of here and tell Tony what’s happening. I’ll focus on the staying alive part.” Although sobs tear at your throat and blackness dots your vision from the pain, you squint through your tears to look at the HUD. A list of systems that are offline continue to scroll down the side as the water begins to pick up, pulling and pushing you in all directions.

“Y-Y-Y/N? Can you read me? Hey!”

“Still alive, yet, Cap,” you manage to say, redirecting all energy to your one working foot. “Come on, come on.” Every movement is sending agony rushing down to your chest and it’s like the water pressure presses down into your chest. Even breathing is getting difficult as a knot forms between your lungs. Heaving for air, you begin to speed up to the surface. Water streams down the sides, bubbles popping and foam disappearing before your eyes. Suddenly, beeping begins out of left-field.

“They’re sending more cruise missiles, ma’am. Without your other repulsor node, you won’t be able to outfly them.”

“But I’m so fucking close!”

“It won’t matter, Ms. Stark. They’ve locked into your heat signature and this suit does not have the capability to lower or mask your in-suit heat output.” A.N.A.’s words make you blink and you let out a desperate sigh, your breathing coming ragged as the water closes in on you. Your vision blurs, and for a moment, your head dips forward before you snap open your eyes. “I’m sorry, Ms. Stark.” Your A.I. sounds so fucking crushed and she’s already grieving and you regret coding in emotions because you want to cry, and not because of the pain.

“It’s not your fault, A.N.A.”

Blinking, you try to calm yourself down but it’s all coming so close. Your helmet can’t protect you for long, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die—

“You’ll send a message to Tony? The message?” you ask and the world stops. The startling realization that you might truly die here in the Potomac slams into you and you nearly let out a scream at how fucking unfair it is. Ribbons of tears track down your face, and you compress yourself into a compact slip of armor, hoping it’ll give you that chance to outrun it, but you know that it won’t. You graduated from MIT, just like Tony. Your big brother Tony. You know the math. The beeping gets louder, gets faster.

A watery smile appears on your face, your lips trembling as it crumbles away and you openly sob. Your face is hot and you breathe in hot air, and you need to breathe. Oh, god, you’re gonna die of asphyxiation before you die of your injuries and everything’s closing in on you—

“Of course, Ms. Stark.” You take comfort in A.N.A.s voice and confirmation, trying to pull what’s left of you together.  “Thank you.” It’s just within reach, but the beeping in your ears tells you the missiles are closer. They’re hot on your trail and your faulty booster has no intention of coming back soon. Remembering your call, you swallow whatever tears you have left and ignore the ache in your throat. Everything hurts, but nothing so much as the pain one can get from knowing what they’re leaving behind. “Steve?�� 

Crackling, and then a thick voice comes on and you know he’s crying too, “I’m here.”

Your eyes reflect the moon’s beams, and you can only see that beautiful full moon surrounded by so much darkness, and you wonder if this is what Tony saw up in that wormhole. The light at the end of a tunnel. You swallow, nod, and tell yourself that you can’t feel the pain anymore. The adrenaline in my body’s numbing it, you reason to yourself. I’ll die from my injuries before I can get to a hospital, so there’s no point in feeling it. The beeping becomes insistent, but you don’t look back. If you don’t look back, maybe they aren’t there.

“Ms. Stark…”

“It’s okay, A.N.A. You did your best.” Clenching your jaw, you try to make sure your next words can be made out. They need to count, you need him to hear you loud and clear, and he seems to sense this because he begins to whisper these nothings meant to make you feel better, or to stall you. You hope it’s to make to feel better. 

Because it works.

“Steve, when I die, tell Tony that… that I love him, and he deserves so many things in this world. Tell him, tell him he is the best brother I could’ve asked for, and—“

“Hey, Y/N. You’re gonna outfly those rockets. You’re the best damn pilot I know. So, stop talking like you’re gonna die.”

“Steve—“

“Y/N, it’s gonna be okay. It’ll be okay, doll, you’re gonna be just fine, and then you’ll come over to Sam’s, and we’ll be on the run together.” Steve’s voice cracks and it damn well near breaks you as the A.N.A. goes radio silent. The HUD turns off. She’s conserving energy. That can only mean one thing. “Won’t that be fun? Huh? We’ll be… what was it that was trending after the 2012 gala? That hashtag…”

You let out a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh as your eyes close. “#Ironcaptain and #Starogers were both trending,” you remind him. His voice is soft and hoarse, and exactly how you imagined him in the mornings. You’ll never get to fucking see him again. Fuck. Life. Fuck. You.

“That’s right, doll. You’re right. You’re so beautiful and smart. You’re tough as, uh, iron, and you’re always right.”

“Dork.”

“Yeah, I’m your dork, though. So, you’ve gotta make it. You’re perfect. That’s why you’ll make it, okay?” He’s in so much denial it pains you to the core and all you want to do is grab him in a hug and tell him that you’re going to die but it’ll be okay. But he’s on the other side of the city and he can’t save you this time. “That’s why I’m gonna see you again, and I’m gonna tell you so many things. So you’ve got to stay alive, alright? ‘Cause I needa tell you all about Camp Lehigh and Bucky and you’re supposed to be here with me ‘cause you’re one of my best friends and I need you, okay? It’s been like that since the beginning, Y/N. Before everything, before that gala, before we were friends. I was always the puppy trailing after you. So you can’t die.”

“Steve,” you choke out as you open your eyes again. You reach your uninjured arm for the surface. Your fingers are barely brushing the air and you can imagine the wind on your face. You might make it. “Steve, I’m scared to die.”

“You’re not gonna die, so there’s nothing to be scared of,” he tells you like it's a fact and not something that’s stopping you from turning off every repulsor node you have left. You’re so tired but your arm breaks free, and then your suit and then you’re soaring through the sky.

Flying through the air, you hear the whistle of wind and missile trail after you. You made it to the surface and for what? Here you’ll be, shot down like game anyway. Is that all live is? A game of hope and lies and deceit, just for some god out there?

If it is, when you die, you’ll tell them that you were never playing. You’ll tell whatever god who’s watching to go fuck themselves. Find someone else to play with.

“Steve,” you whisper, because you need to say it as many times as you can before you can’t anymore. “Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.”

“I’m here. I’m right here waiting for you.”

You laugh into your next words, cheeks soaking with tears as you raise your eyes to the moon. “I’m glad that it’s you.” 

The missiles dig into your armor — legs, chest, arms in that order — and explode. You are a dying star, the last brilliant flash of light and beauty and the magnificence of the universe before you are extinguished. 

On the other side of Washington, Steve watches the orange cloud of fire and smoke consume the air around it hungrily as a lone figure drops into the water.

.

“Zola’s algorithm… is a program for choosing I.N.S.I.G.H.T.’s targets.”

“What targets?”

“You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa city.” Sitwell swallows visibly and Steve’s nails dig into his palms as he stares at the pathetic man. “Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who's a threat to HYDRA! Now, or in the future. It’s why we killed Y/N Stark.” Blood drips down Steve’s fingers as he grabs Sitwell’s collar, hauling him to his feet.

“What did you say?”

“We… it was a confirmed hit.” Sitwell’s confession rings in Steve’s ears and he lifts him up higher, wanting him to choke.

“You say her name one more time, no one’s gonna stop you when you’re thrown off the building.” He lets the man drop to a pile on the ground. The blood from his palms mark where he’d grabbed the traitor and Steve resists the urge to kick him. Instead, he asks how Zola’s algorithm can predict the future whilst thinking of every way imaginable on how he can destroy H.Y.D.R.A., one agent at a time.

.

“Y/N wouldn’t want some priest,” Steve says, playing with Sam’s cellphone. He’d given it to him after what happened in Washington, but Steve’s never grabbed the strength to play the voicemail sent to the number not long after your last call together. The anger he had has sapped away until all that’s left is the space you used to fill with your laugh and smile. He never even got to tell you how he felt about you— “Maybe something quiet. Her stuff burned, something like that.”

“How the hell would you know what she wanted?” Tony whispers. His rage is simmering so close to the surface, so close to his breaking point, that Steve looks up. They’re gathered in the Avengers Tower, all of them for once, and Tony slams his hand on the table, head bowed. 

“Tony,” Bruce begins but he ignores him, pushing off the table and walking back towards the window of the penthouse, staring off to the skyline. “I’m sorry. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I could’ve. I could’ve told her not to go.”

“You couldn’t have known S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised,” Natasha adds, although her eyes are red rimmed and there’s something croaky in her voice. Steve’s heard her cry. He knows. “None of us knew.” Tony whips around.

“You were supposed to protect her!” His words make Steve flinch more than the volume he screams it at. Steve’s blood rushes to his head in his shame, and a familiar bruise blooms in his throat. “I trusted you. You promised me you’d protect her.”

“I promised I’d try, Tony,” he whispers. “And I couldn’t. Neither could you. If you were in my position, you wouldn’t have made it in time.”

“I could’ve. I could’ve, with my suit. I could have saved her if I was in your position, because I would have had the suit!” Tipping over a wine glass and letting it smash to the floor, all but Tony flinch when he walks over the shards of broken glass. “You don’t have any idea what I could’ve done.” 

Steve falls silent. He turns on the phone screen, turns it off again, and flips it over to feel the edges where the screen protector has cracked.

“Tony,” Thor begins, speaking for the first time since he’s arrived. His dark blue eyes are storms on seas and the air around him blurs with energy. The air tastes like lightning. “Look at me.”

“I could’ve saved her,” Tony repeats.

“Look at me.” Dark eyes meet storm blue. “You could not have gone across the city, bring her out of the water, and take her to a hospital alive. Even if you did find her, she would have bled out or succumbed to her injuries.” His voice lowers as Tony’s head drops forward, tears racing down his nose and cheeks. “We all saw the suit.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s dead,” Tony whispers. He jolts himself out of Thor’s grasp and walks back to the window. “She could’ve made it out. Someone could’ve saved her.”

“Tony,” Natasha calls softly, “we need to—“

“‘We’,” the man repeats incredulously. He gives them all a sneer. Tony’s bitter smile could make hell freeze over and Steve pockets the phone, standing. “I’m sorry, there’s a ‘we’ in this situation? Who’s her brother here?”

“Tony, that isn’t fair—”

“There is no ‘we’. You all think she’s dead, but we never got a body. That’s what isn’t fair about this. You’re supposed to be her friends, her family, and you’ve just given up on her! She could still be out there. She could still be kicking and you’ve all given up on her!” Swiping a hand out to the window, he stares at them, waiting for them to agree. When they don’t, his head bows as his hands ball into fists. With a sigh, all the strength leaves him and Tony’s shoulders slump. When he looks up again, his eyes are shining wet, dark earth after a storm.

“Tony,” Steve says his name faintly, then clears his throat. Standing up, he waits for the response and gets none. He begins his way to the man who personifies all stages of grief. His throat bruised from holding in tears, he just calls his name again until Tony looks at him. “We got the suit.” Tony’s entire body crumples and he leans against the bar, eyes narrowing on the marble swirls. “She may have been your sister, but she wasn’t invincible.”

“Don’t talk about her like she’s dead!” Steve sees the swing before it makes contact and he ducks underneath, bringing Tony into a crushing hug. “She’s not dead. She’s my baby sister, she’s not dead.” Steve doesn’t say anything, but the man seems to wilt in his arms as another hand touches his shoulder. Bruce sends a tight-lipped smile before slipping between the two and hugging Tony tight. The blond pulls away.

“Thor, get the suit,” Steve whispers, turning to the god. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, nodding and uncrossing his arms to go retrieve the cargo they’d received a week ago. Maria Hill had it delivered in an unsuspecting box outside of Stark Towers, with a touch ID that only Tony Stark could bypass. Inside, the melted, burnt, broken remains of what is left of your mechanic suit. Half a gauntlet, blasted metal, shrapnel and bloodstains. That’s all they have left of you.

Tony takes out your helmet. There are ashy streaks where the explosion had damaged the metal, and there’s a huge crack up the left side of the mask until where the eye used to be. A hole is punched through, the wires poking out, and blood where something had dragged over your mask.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., connect A.N.A. to the servers.”

“Right away, sir.”

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” A new voice echoes throughout the penthouse, a subdued female who sounds like she’s seen better days. Steve catches Tony’s weakening smile. “Is there anything you need?”

“You have the recording for… for her last day?” Bruce asks quietly.

“Mr. Stark?” A.N.A. seems to wait on Tony for confirmation and he nods.

“Go.”

The helmet lights up and Tony places it on the bar counter before heading down to the couch with the rest of them. Natasha rubs his arm, leaning on her other elbow and hiding her mouth behind a tight fist. Thor closes his eyes, listening as intently as he can. Bruce paces back and forth and Steve just waits on Tony.

When they reach your agony, your screams, your relentless sobbing for death as you sink into the Potomac, Tony tells A.N.A. to turn it off. There’ll be two funerals, they decide. The public memorial and one just for them.

.

“You dealt with my sister’s potty mouth and you yell at me about language?” Tony asks over the comms. Steve groans on the other end, and he’s surprised by how easily he can mention you. It doesn’t hurt as much. “I literally can’t get over it.”

“It just slipped out, Tony,” he replies.

“Well, I bumped into a forcefield, so I had a reason.” Tony’s senses are on high alert. The Enhanced is MIA and his eyes scan the area. 

“Keep your eyes on the prize, Tony. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can head home and debate about it.”

Tony pushes on the secret door, letting out a silent ‘yay’ when it gives, sliding into motion.

“We have a second enhanced. Female. Do not engage.”

Walking down the staircase, Tony’s nerves shoot. Something about this place seems off. The staircase expands as he gets to the end, leading through a dark hallway lit by the occasional lamp that looks like it hasn’t had its oil changed since the 80’s. Grimacing, Tony continues on his way. It’s enough light to let him see ahead and if he needs the suit, it’s just seconds away. The hallway opens up to reveal a huge underground laboratory, and Tony’s eyes widen, gaze drifting up as he takes in the magnitude of this room. It’s a huge construct, with metal catwalks and staircases. A Leviathan is hoisted in the air by wires and he blinks.

“Guys, I got Strucker.”

“Yeah, I’ve got… something bigger.” There are benches full of forgotten projects or ones half-done. An Iron Legion robot lays on one of them, illuminated by pale yellow.

Shit. He wants to get out of here and back to the team, but it’s too late now and he has a job to do. His eyes drift over the robot again, seeing if he’d know what they needed it for. Experimentation? Curiosity?

Parts. He can see it in the delicate way it was taken apart, by someone who knows their way around this kind of stuff. This isn’t some ten year old who’d torn it apart for the sake of curiosity. No, this is surgery.

Tearing his eyes away, he turns to look at the triple row of benches under what looks to be operating room lights. Something gold and red glimmers underneath the light but he can’t risk getting unfocused.

The blue glow of Loki’s sceptre reminds him of why he’s here, and he goes to it. Electricity crackles around it, tools and half-made but quality gadgets used to stabilize it. There are monitors reading the levels it’s giving out, fluctuating as Tony steps closer.

“Thor, I got eyes on the prize.”

“Tony?” Turning around at the sound of a voice — the voice, your voice — Tony’s eyes widen as the Leviathan jerks into motion. Letting out a scream, he flinches away, his mind reeling back to that wormhole in 2012. Panic seizes him, his lungs constricting and his heart beating in time with the pulse in his head as he turns to watch it go, flying above the rock steps occupied by some bodies.

Bodies he recognizes.

Bruce’s Hulk body twitches as the last of his fight leaves him. Spears come out and go into him at all angles and he lets out a painful whimper. Natasha’s broken arms and legs stretch and twist in awkward angles as if she’d fallen to her death and every single bone in her is shattered. A pool of blood spreads beneath her head and her eyes stare sightlessly at him. The rock ledge is slick with red, flowing down in a tiny trickle towards Clint. For a moment, Tony thinks he’s alive, and he nearly calls out his name.

Then his head dips and lolls, and Tony knows. Thor’s neck is gashed to the bone, but his blood has dried and Tony’s breath catches in his throat. The few things that can kill Thor aren’t even possible on Earth, and Tony takes a step towards him just as his gaze drops. Steve Rogers lays there, bruised and battered with a shield snapped in half.

Half of him knows this is a vision but the other half is trying to rationalize it. Whatever is messing with his head: transmittable by air, powerful enough to warp his reality, and potent enough to capitalize on pre-existing emotions. Tony jots all this down in his mind as he desperately tries to pull himself out.

Not real, not real, not—

“You could have saved us.”

“Ant? Is it really you?” Spinning around, he comes face to face with you. You look more than a little worse for wear, and he touches your face, unbelieving. Searching your face, he just sighs and kisses your forehead. “Tony, oh my god.” Letting out something between a sob and a chuckle, he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs. Your hands cup his face and you cry out, hugging him tightly.

“Y/N, you’re okay.” He takes hold of you by the shoulders, taking in your features as his fingers brush over your cheekbones. 

“Hey, Tony,” you whisper. The skin peels away underneath your eye in the shape of the crack of your mask as he touches your face, peeling like wet tissue and he lets out a shout, pushing back. The flap of skin continues to fall, tearing away your face and blood flows down the gash as your eye closes. Scarlet tears flow your cheeks. “Tony, it’s me.”

“Y/N, no….” You reach for him still, trying to understand why and Tony can only back away. You’re dressed in tattered clothes, all bloody and burned — the clothes you died in and there’s a gaping hole where your abdomen should be.

“Tony?”

“It isn’t you.” The ugly pulsing burn on your side is black and white, your arm mangled beyond repair. “Stop…”

“Tony, what’s wrong?” You run to him when he trips over the steps of the rocks and you pull him up. Blood runs down your neck, drying dark and thick. Your eye opens again. With a pitch black pupil, only a green synthetic outline stares back at him.

“You’re not real!” Flinging your arms off, he stalks past you and searches for the sceptre. “You’re dead. I buried your empty casket.” He takes in his surroundings, his back to the pile of dead heroes. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, it’ll make his mind realize it isn’t real. If he finds the sceptre, he’s out of here. It’s the sceptre messing with his mind. That’s it. Find the sceptre.

You stumble after him but he ignores you too. His heart tears in half as he ignores it and tells himself that you’re dead. He forces himself to think of that cloudy day and that empty casket. They buried your suit and your favourite books for you to read in whatever afterlife. It’s been a year. You’re dead. 

A vibrating hum catches his attention and he freezes. Closing his eyes, he tries to hone in on the sound.

“Tony, please! Look at me...” A hand clutches at his shirt and he whips around, prepares to scream for his mind to shut up. The words die before he can speak. There the sceptre is, with the monitors and stabilizers and everything. No dead bodies, no blood on his hands. But the hand is still there. A sobbing pile is at his feet and a pale hand grasps his shirt, and his breath catches when the sobbing pile cries out his name. His stomach twisted, bile crawls up his throat when he sinks to his knees, collapsing before it. His hands shake and he feels his heart steadily climb towards the spectrum of beating so fast he isn’t sure he has a heart anymore. His blood mutes his frantic thoughts, and he, lightheaded and dizzy, pulls the hands off of him. They’re shaking but he isn’t sure if it’s him or… or you.

“Tony, please look at me. Tony? Tony, it’s not a vision, right? I’m, I’m not seeing things, again? Tony?” Your voice under your breath mutters these heartbreaking things that Tony lets out a breathless laugh of pain, and he tilts your chin up to see you. It can’t be you. You, with the exploded armour and bloodstains. You, who’d died by S.H.I.E.L.D. It can’t be you. A shaky hand reaches for your chin, and he feels the hot tears dripping off your skin as he angles your head to the light. Your eyes are wide and sunken compared to the rest of your face and your lips are dried and cracked. Your hands are calloused, dirty, your fingernails chipped, your skin raw and red and blistering. It can’t be you.

But it is.

“Yeah, Y/N, it’s me.” Your eyes widen and you stare at him as if you’ve just noticed him for the first time, and you let out a loud sob, covering your hand with your mouth as he lunges into you, holding you as tight as he can. You’re so real and warm and you’re hugging him back even harder if that’s even possible as he sniffs back his tears.

If this is a dream, Tony doesn’t want to wake up.

“Tony? Tony, you found me. I told them you would, but obviously they ignored it, because you’d never stop until you did.” Tony’s heart races back to the other end of the spectrum. The not-beating side. The side riddled with guilt and grief and pain that he thought he’d moved past but here, in your earnest view, it all comes rushing back. “They, they kept me here to work on the staff, but… you found me.” You bury your face in his neck and he kisses the spot before your ear, looking at the staff with wet eyes. Blinking, he lets the tears that fall, fall freely. “I thought I was dreaming when I heard your voice. It’s been so long. Tony.”

You break down into tears as you melt into his arms, slouching all over him. He holds you up in his embrace and your knees drag over the floor as you wrap your legs around him. He pulls back and sits on his bottom, holding you in his lap like he did when you were a kid after a nightmare. You latch onto him like a koala, and he sighs, eyes closing.

“I’ve got you, sis.” Running a hand over your hair, he realizes with a pang how thin you are. You’re all bones and not a lot of meat, and your spindly fingers are grasping onto him so hard that it hurts. But pain’s good. Means it’s more likely to be real. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you outta here. I’ve got you.”

The comm links are active as Tony buries his face in your greasy hair. You smell awful, but underneath it, you smell like you. 

“Guys, we’ve got a plus one.”

.

“Hold my hand, Steve.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” He nods, as if expecting your answer and you sit across from him. Reaching over, the man holds your hand across the conference room table. Tony situates himself in the corner, and you already know what’s coming. You just need to gauge Steve’s reaction when it’s presented. 

As images of every global instance of destruction flickers across the screen, you feel something within you twist harder. Washington, D.C. Steve’s grip intensifies, nearly crushing your hand until you give him a gentle squeeze in reminder.

You open the first page of the Sokovia Accords. His thumb traces soothing circles over your skin while you flip through the pages. Your cybernetic eye scans each one, gleaning the important info for you to review later before you hand it off. 

Since your return to civilization, you’ve updated and replaced the tech H.Y.D.R.A. used to keep you alive and functioning with improvements that are far more befitting of you. For one thing, your cybernetic eye they used to replace the one they gouged out has a link to the earpiece, allowing you near 24/7 access to A.N.A. For another, you’ve improved mesh camouflage. After all, the scarring around your metal abdomen is kinda unsightly for undercover operations. 

Still, this isn’t how you wanted to go back into the Avengers. After Tony’s BARF showcase at MIT and the announcement of the September Foundation Grant, you had felt the shift in Tony’s energy. From generous and giving, to guilty and heartbroken, you knew something had happened when he went to the bathroom. Still, he probably didn’t want to talk about it.

So you took the jet back to New York for an emergency Security Council meeting with Secretary Thaddeus Ross. 

Tony watches as you hand the Accords to Steve. Sam refuses to look at it, and Steve only lifts the cover to humour you. You know him. 

When Secretary Ross leaves, the rest of the Avengers follow suit soon after, but not before your brother kisses your hair and rubs your head. They all head out to see the Secretary off and then meet in one of the many lounges in the facility. All of them except Steve.

Steve pulls his hand back to open the thick book, and you swivel the chair to face him fully. He reads the first page and you watch as his expression tightens, lips pressed together, eyebrows furrowed.

“Steve,” you whisper and he looks up at you. Instantly, everything relaxes. His shoulders slide down and he even manages a small smile.

“I don’t like it so far,” he tells you. “Sacrificing our right to choose is too dangerous.” He lifts the Accords half way, scans the pages, and then lets it drop again. He rubs his hand over his face, looking older and tired.

“Well, we can set up safeguards, can’t we? Once all the publicity dies down.” You reach for his hand, and he takes hold of it again. The warmth of him soothes your nerves and he instantly begins rubbing your knuckles. Habit, you suppose.

“But what if this panel doesn’t send us where we need to go? What if they send us where we aren’t needed? Y/N, we can’t be run by some panel who doesn’t even know us.”

“I know. You know I know what happens when corruption begins to spread. I’m sure we’ll be able to have some say over this.”

“Agendas change.”

“And what if our agendas change, too?” you ask quietly. Steve’s head snaps up and you lean forward, squeezing his palm. “I’m not saying you or Tony. I know you try your best. I’m saying when we’re all gone, what happens if the Avengers are run by people who don’t have the same ideals?”

“That’s a far off possibility.”

“But it’s still a possibility.” You stand, smoothing your hands over your pants and adjusting your vest. You realize somewhere that you’re dressed exactly like your brother, but you ignore it. The two of you can’t help but be fashion icons. Walking around the table, you sit on the surface next to his hand. “I don’t like it either, so I’m not going to sign.” Not yet. “But, Tony wants to. So we’re gonna have to talk it over with the team.”

Steve leans back into his chair to look at you. “I can’t sign this, Y/N.”

“I know.” You pull him up to his feet and smile as he brushes hair away from your face. “I know, baby.” You pull him into a hug and he sighs, nuzzling into your neck. Pulling back, he sighs again and brushes his thumb over your lips as his gaze searches your face. He takes you in like he’ll never see you beside him again and you do the same, just trying to burn his face into your memory. 

“These Accords might ruin us.”

“Not if you don’t let it.”

“Tony wants to sign.” Steve lets his head drop and the hands you have on your shoulders press down. Your thumbs dig circles into his muscles.

“Not if we convince him not to.” You send him a smile and he cups your face. “We’re really lucky, Steve. Really lucky. We got a second chance. This past year has been hell for the both of us, but we got our chance.”

“At what cost is it to keep us together? I can’t just pretend I agree with this. If I see a situation pointed south, I can’t just ignore it.”

“I know, baby. Tony knows it too.” Your hands run down his chest and your fingers tangle together. “This is our family. Just, remember that.”

“I know.” Leaning over, he kisses your cheek, although you yearn for it somewhere else, and pulls away to go to the lounge with the Accords. You sit there on the table, alone, watching him go, with that feeling in your heart just like the one in 2012.

Just like the one in Washington.

.

“Take one more step, and I’ll be sending your brains to Wilson.”

Steve freezes. The words, tossed so poisonously against his back, make him stop and he swallows through his bruised throat. He doesn’t want to look at you. He can’t look at you after what he’d done. Rhodey shattered, Tony somewhere trying to fix the mess he made. But he couldn’t regret choosing Bucky. Still, he just wanted to make sure you were okay but you’d woken up and grabbed your gun as quick as you could, standing despite the ringing that must’ve been going on in your head.

“You don’t walk away when I’m talking to you, Captain.” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Without the shield, he almost feels naked under your piercing glare. He knows that if looks could kill, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had vibranium between you two. “You know what you mean to me.” The gun cocks and he hears the safety switch off. Your finger rests over the trigger.

“Secretary Ross charged me with finding you. Tony asked me to bring you in peacefully,” you whispers. Your unsaid words hang in the air instead. Not more than Bucky. Never more than Bucky. Bucky who killed my parents.

Bucky who didn’t know what he was doing.

But he killed them.

And Steve knew.

After Secretary Ross assigned you with bringing back the fugitives, you’d refused at first. 

“I don’t work for organizations like yours,” you said.

“Y/N, if you don’t go, we don’t know how many people will get hurt when they get in his way,” Tony said. 

“I’m only going for you,” you said.

You knew Steve wouldn’t let his team rot on the Raft for so long. It was only a matter of time before he came to rescue them, and that was where you came in. You know his mind, and it almost kills you, knowing that in every circumstance, he would’ve always chosen Bucky over you. 

Steve was always the better hand-to-hand combatant between the two of you, but Natasha had taught you some new moves before she’d gone and disappeared without a trace, too. You had him pinned underneath you, and a part of you knows that he’d only let you win because he didn’t want to hurt you. Before, it used to be funny. You used to spar, and you’d pin him down, or he’d scoop you up in a hug. Before, it used to be fun and flirty, and you two would make smoothies after. At least, before everything that had happened.

No such kindness is in you now.

It wasn’t in Sam either. The man had knocked you out with a fire extinguisher, leading to their escape.

Until now.

Steve had dragged you to the little skipper he’d used to sneak onto the Raft, scared out of his mind for the concussion you now sported. But it didn’t matter. Despite the dots nearly blacking out your vision, you know if you pull, it’d hit Steve and come out between the eyes.

“Rhodey’s paralyzed,” you grit out, your jaw clenched so hard you’re sure your teeth will break, “because of you. How could you do this to him? To Tony? Especially after what happened last year? Tony… Tony’s heartbroken. You know that? He’s heartbroken.”

So are you. Steve knows how to read between your lines, even if some of ‘em are metal instead of flesh.

“Then, are you gonna do it?” Steve asks quietly. Golden light streams into the dark room, illuminating his broad shoulders and sifting through his hair, and you wonder if everyone else is asleep. That’s the only reason you can think of that’ll make him see you now. He’s always held these secrets. It’s a fucking shame you’re one of them.

It’s a fucking shame he hid the most important one from you. It almost makes you wonder if he ever felt anything for you at all. Life has been shitting on you.

Squinting your eyes, you try to ignore the blossoming pain in your head as you shake your thoughts away. He doesn’t even look at you. Coward.

“I want to,” you tell him, finger just barely pushing the trigger. You know how much pressure it takes to fire a gun “I really, really want to.” You half-laugh, half-cry, because of the pain in your heart and head. Who’s the coward now? “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I know.” Steve turns to you then, his normally-bright blue eyes hooded by the shadows of the rocking ship. You put the gun down, and it’s almost as if all the strength leaves you then, too. “I never wanted you to pick between Tony and I.”

“Why, because I’d pick Tony?” You sit back down on your bed again, and Steve shoves his hands in his pockets. Walking over, he angles his head to the spot beside you and you nod, reaching over to turn on the lamp. “Well, you’d pick Bucky so, I guess it’s even.”

“Y/N,” he begins but you hold up a hand as your eyes close. 

“Save it, Rogers. It doesn’t matter.” Your teeth clench together and the muscles in your jaw twitches as your eyebrows push down. All you’re trying to do is not cry at the thought of leaving him here on this ship. Taking a shaky breath, you blow it out as Steve puts a hand on yours. Your fingers slot together and you lean towards him until your head is on your shoulder. He tilts his head to press his cheek into your hair and your fingers play together as your other hand brushes over his calloused skin, broken along his knuckles where he’d punch your brother. “None of it matters.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Something wet slides into your hair and you feel it drip down your skin. Placing your hand atop his, you swallow and tell yourself to get it together.

“The most ridiculous part of this whole situation is that I love you,” you tell him because there might never be a chance to tell him again. “Your best friend killed my parents. You beat up my brother and he’s back in New York, bruised and battered and heartbroken, and I’m here.” You raise your head and he turns to look at you. Searching his eyes, you find nothing but grief. He pulls away his hand. “I’m here, instead of there with him.” You laugh because it’s all so stupid and ridiculous. “I’m really here, fraternizing with the enemy.”

This is never how you imagined you would tell Steve you loved him. Never. The first time you tell him you love him is the day it’s over. Fucking poetic, isn’t it. 

“I’m fraternizing with the enemy,” you repeat. Steve’s your enemy. Steve. Your stupid dork is now the enemy of 117 countries and you. The realization slams into you like things you can’t name. Your eyes flicker close and a few tears slip out but you manage to suck the rest in. Steve lets out an exhausted sigh and it feels like you’re both bone-tired this days.

“Y/N, I never wanted this for you. I just wanted to keep you safe.” His hand rises up to touch your face but then he seems to think better of it and lets it drop again. You miss the warm, rough feel of him already and he’s not even gone yet. “If the U.N. did what H.Y.D.R.A. did—”

“I know. I…” You sigh, looking down at the slight space between the two of you. How easy it would be to close it if it were a different time. “It was never a choice between you and Tony. It was a choice between Tony and what I believed in, and I believe in you, Steve. I believe that organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D., like the World Security Council, like some U.N. security panel, can’t be trusted.”

“Then, why? You know what organizations can do. You know that agendas change.”

“We’ve already lost so much. We’ve had too many casualties.” You cup his face, smile bitterly, try to make a joke out of it that you know won’t land. “I was one of them.”

“You can’t say that,” Steve says, turning his face away and you swallow the knot in your throat. 

“Why not? It’s true.” The most horrible thing you’ve ever seen lays within Steve’s eyes in that moment but you move on. “The Accords are still gonna pass whether you’re there or not. It’s a matter of safety, now,” you whisper and his gaze darts to you. His eyes ask a silent question and you dread the answer. “I’m gonna sign. I need to do my job, Steve, even if it means working for some higher power. There’s no other way.”

“So you’ve picked a side.” The distance between you is immeasurably wide, and you wonder how such a huge distance can be fit in such a tiny space.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I’ve picked a side.” Steve’s face twitches and you take in his sculpted lips and cheeks, his blue eyes that reflect the lamplight and warm golden hair. “Steve, all that matters is we know what we are.” 2012 feels so long ago but it makes you feel younger when Steve tries to smile. Then, he looks down and you have a feeling he can’t even look at you.

At first, you think it’s because you disgust him. It’s not the first time you’ve thought such a thing, but then you realize. He’s terrified of watching you fall out of love with him.

How much you want to tell him that it isn’t possible. But you don’t. You can’t say a thing.

“But you’ve chosen a side,” he replies quietly, almost accusatory if you didn’t know him better. You close your eyes for a moment at his words, and then you turn away. The light is blinding in the hallway, but it’s better than looking at the heartache in Steve’s face. Tears slip down your cheeks as you stand and take the gun.

“You chose yours first.”

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