Chapter Text
“You can’t fight it,” Ryan said mildly as the subject convulsed on the table.
Madeline concealed a wince. She knew that Shield was fighting for the salvation of the planet, and she would do anything to help achieve those goals, but that didn’t mean she had to particularly enjoy it.
The subject’s chest heaved and barely had time to turn her head to the side before a thin, long stream of bile coughed its way out of her mouth and nose.
“She’s not made for this,” Vincent said, voice tense from the life monitors.
Ryan sighed, scrubbing a hand through her short, dark hair. “You’re right,” she said, resigned. She sounded so defeated that Madeline almost dropped her gun. Ryan turned to her. “Get the subject back to the cell.”
Madeline nodded quickly. “Of course.”
Vincent looked relieved as he shut off the machine.
The subject let out a weak, almost inaudible sob. “Please,” she whispered, eyes glazed over with shock and pain.
Madeline helped her off the table, and she wobbled before slumping all of her weight into Madeline. “We can’t make mistakes like this again,” she said, testing the waters with Ryan, trying to see how uncompromising she would be.
“No, you’re right,” Ryan muttered. “We need—I know exactly who we need, but I didn’t want to take the risk. It was too…” She tugged sharply at her hair. Turned to an assistant who looked vaguely ill in the back of the room. “Assemble the Strike Team.”
“Who are we going to—“ Madeline began, but Ryan looked at her sharply.
“Agent Enu, we will be collecting a rogue son of a bitch that we should’ve cut down a long time ago.”
“Ryan, you can’t possibly—“ Vincent said, but he cut himself off.
“It’s the only way,” Ryan said, eyes hard. “We have to save the world.”
The subject in Madeline’s arms lolled forward, heavier, and she searched for the pulse.
They may be saving the world, but there was no saving this one.
“Red or blue?” David asked.
Steve stared at the ceiling. “Blue.”
David, lying on his back next to him, waved a hand, and the walls shifted to a light blue.
“That’s so cool,” Steve said, smiling. “Do navy.”
David frowned. “I don’t have navy yet.” He turned his head to look at Steve. “Don’t you think the room would be kind of uncomfortably dark?”
“I like the dark,” Steve said defensively.
“I know,” David laughed. “But most other people do not. Darkness makes everyone tired.”
Steve wanted to make a joke about always being tired because of “Major Depressive Disorder,” but he hadn’t made one of those in front of David yet and didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. “Do red.”
“It’s more pink than red, fair warning,” David said, waving a hand, and the walls changed color.
“You’re so talented,” Steve sighed happily. “How dare you be so damn talented.”
David smiled, pleased. “It’s pretty useless. I was just—bored. I guess.”
“It won’t be useless to everyone,” Steve said.
“It’s already a thing for kids with mental disorders. They can change the color of their rooms and shit to help calm them down or distract them,” David said. “I just wanted to figure out how they did it.”
“And you did.”
“Yeah,” David agreed, unable to completely conceal his happiness under his usual grave expression.
Steve nudged him with his elbow. “Hey. Even if, for some crazy reason, you end up ditching the Young Avengers, you’re still gonna be a superhero,” Steve said, gesturing to the walls. “How crazy is that?”
“Shut up,” David laughed. “You’re making way too big of a deal over this.”
“Am I?” Steve asked.
David shrugged, studiously keeping his eyes on the ceiling. “Dunno.”
Steve’s therapist had instilled this whole thing of micro-goals, and now Steve couldn’t stop making big deals out of small shit. It’d annoyed him at first because his therapist didn’t have the right to rewrite his behavior, but now, looking at the upward tick of David’s mouth, he wasn’t too annoyed at all.
“I think all molehills should be mountains,” Steve said.
“Why do you keep saying that?” David groaned. “You’re such a fucking grandpa.”
“David Alleyne, I am over 130 years old.”
“I’d still argue that sixty-seven of those years don’t count.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re a party-pooper.”
“Pot, kettle,” David said smoothly, and Steve couldn’t help but smile at that.
“David,” Bucky called from the doorway. “Tommy’s been looking for you.”
“Has he?” David muttered mildly as he propped himself up on an elbow.
Steve turned to look at Bucky, and Bucky shot him a little smile before his attention went back to David. Steve took in Bucky’s outfit of the day: a horrific rainbow tie-die shirt over green sweatpants. Christ. “Something about an adventure,” Bucky said.
David’s eyes lit up, and Steve felt warm with it. “I’m taking him to see the cavern.”
“Well, he’s been complaining about it for twenty minutes.”
“Of course he has,” David said, smirking as he got to his feet. He glanced at Steve. “You coming?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, and David extended a hand to help Steve up. He looked at Bucky. “Has everyone had breakfast?”
Bucky looked amused. “Would I be allowed out of the kitchen if everyone hadn’t had breakfast?”
“Good point,” Steve said. They reached Bucky, and Steve kissed him on the cheek. Bucky tucked his hand into Steve’s back pocket as they walked to the living room.
“Has Tommy really never seen the—“
“—cavern,” David finished. “Nope. He says he’s allergic to rocks.”
Steve snorted.
“Also says it’s a ‘Young Avengers thing,’ which is hilarious,” David added.
Tommy, who’d been living with them and training with them for the better part of a year, was still insistent that he didn’t live here, nor did he associate with the Young Avengers. Billy and, surprisingly, Loki were the only ones who seemed genuinely annoyed by it. The rest of the household took it as a sort of reoccurring joke. “A meme,” Bucky continually insisted to the eternal eye-rolls of the kids.
“We should go see a movie today,” Bucky said after a pause.
“Got something in mind?”
“The new one with John Boyega.” Bucky gave a little happy sigh. “I have a gigantic crush on him.”
“I know,” Steve said dryly. “He’s getting old now, isn’t he?”
“Not nearly as old as us.”
“Roasted,” David said, pointing at Steve.
Steve rolled his eyes. “What’s the movie about again?”
“I think it’s got a road trip involved,” David said.
“Yeah. And murder.”
“Your two favorite things,” David said, nudging Steve.
“Hey,” Steve protested half-heartedly while Bucky held back a wince. Steve ignored him. “I’ll have you know that my two favorite things are road trips and vengeance.”
“Expanding our horizons from murder, are we?”
“Yes.”
Bucky liked to tiptoe around Steve’s past. David did not. Steve kind of liked the set-up.
They strolled into the living room, and America looked up from where she appeared to be in an argument with Kate.
“Steve. Tell Kate that L.A. is overrated.”
“It’s overrated,” Steve said automatically.
“See?” America said.
“That literally doesn’t count. You have Steve wrapped around your fuckin’ finger. Bucky?”
“Nuh-uh,” America said. “Bucky likes you way better than me.” They paused.
“David,” they said in unison.
“I’ve never been to L.A.,” David said.
America and Kate groaned, then resumed their argument.
Tommy was lying on one of the couches, pretending to be asleep. David walked over to him and sat on his chest.
Tommy coughed and shoved David, annoyed. “Hey.”
David laid down so that he was half-sprawled on Tommy. “Cavern time, bitch.”
Kate looked up sharply. “Don’t listen to him, Tommy. It’s a fucking cave. Remember your training. Stay strong. Remember who you are. Don’t listen to the propaganda it’s a—“
“Shut up, Kate. Let him form his own opinion,” David said.
"You're trying to indoctrinate him,” Kate complained.
“Don’t attack David,” Tommy said. “He’s a beautiful bisexual all-knowing angel.”
“We know,” America said with an eye-roll.
“You have to stop saying that,” David said half-heartedly.
“That you’re a beautiful bisexual all-knowing angel?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have wings.”
Tommy laughed, and Kate slapped a hand over her eyes, as if profoundly distressed. Steve didn’t blame her. Tommy could really lay it on thick, and David gave just as good as he got.
“You have to stop this,” America said. “Steve is allergic to feelings. Have your feelings somewhere else.”
“It’s true,” Steve said. “I’ll break out in hives.”
“That’s what she said,” Bucky muttered.
“That made no sense,” Steve said.
“Your face… makes no sense.”
Steve loved him so much.
“We’re leaving anyway,” David said, dragging Tommy to his feet. “Unto the—“
“CAVE!”
“—cavern.”
Tommy rolled his eyes to hide a smile. “We’re going.”
Steve sat down on the couch they’d vacated, and Bucky sat next to him.
There were clear lines in the room, unacknowledged and awkward. Kate looked at Bucky, and Steve looked at America, and they all seemed to hold back a grimace.
There was no beef between Steve and Kate, but she was dating America, and it was like hearing that Becca had gotten married and had children. It was—weird. Steve hadn’t met Becca’s late husband back when he was Captain America, but he could only imagine how painfully awkward it would be. And Steve loved Kate, and he loved Kate-and-America, but there would always be that degree of separation. He wondered if this was how fathers felt about their sons-in-law. Or something.
And Bucky and America only got along when they talked about Steve’s mental health and punching things.
“Wanna see the John Boyega movie today?” Bucky asked.
“Sure,” Kate said, looking at America in askance.
She nodded. “Sounds good.” She stood up. “I’ll ask the boys.”
Kate stood too. “You get Loki, and I’ll get Billy and Teddy.”
“Sure.”
As they left, Bucky dropped his head onto Steve’s shoulder. He pushed his nose into the muscle there, and Steve squirmed a little bit at the feeling and jabbed Bucky in the ribs to make him stop. He huffed, pressing a kiss there and relenting.
"So I was thinking," Bucky began.
“Oh no,” Steve deadpanned.
“Oh, hush,” Bucky muttered. “I was thinking that we should email Logan.”
“I don’t think there’s a point to that,” Steve said hesitantly.
“Steve. We found another missing person.”
“We can’t—we can’t prove anything.”
“At least Logan would believe us, though, right?”
Within the incomprehensible mess of files that Logan had dumped in their hands, they’d slowly unearthed a trail of missing persons. They were people who fit a very specific description—youthful, lonely, perfect health records. Since discovering the trail, they’d all been on the lookout for more missing persons.
They’d seen three more disappear in the expanse of three months, where the shortest gap between the others before now had been two years. Shield was getting desperate in doing whatever they were trying to do.
What was worse was that those who went missing were all on the Registered list.
“What would he do about it?” Steve asked, voice quiet, and even he couldn’t miss the heavy note of defeat in his tone.
Bucky opened his mouth. Closed it. “I—“
“We could give this to the kids,” Steve said falteringly, the idea that had been in the back of his mind since the pattern was discovered. “They—“
“They’re not ready,” Bucky said quickly.
“You’ve been training them for this.”
“Yes,” Bucky said impatiently. “But they’re working up to shit like this. This—this is too—too real. Too much. Too hard.” He swallowed roughly. “Something they won’t be able to walk back from the same.”
“They’ll have to give up their childhoods sooner rather than later,” Steve said.
“I know,” Bucky said hoarsely. “But not—not yet.”
Steve nodded, sad but not surprised. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand Bucky’s frantic protectiveness, though. “Then there’s nothing we can do now.”
“We used to be able to.”
Steve touched Bucky’s wrist. “You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore, and I’m not Captain America anymore. We don’t do this.”
“We could.”
“You’re a better man than me,” Steve whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head.
Privately, Steve knew that he deserved to submit to Shield’s custody. He wasn’t stupid. He knew their archetype for whoever they were kidnapping was always reminiscent of victims of the serum. It always led back to the damn serum. He knew that Bucky was distantly aware of this, but they hadn’t discussed it. Steve wouldn’t bring it up because he refused to talk about most things that had to do with immortality. Bucky wouldn’t bring it up because he didn’t like to think about Steve’s inclination to suicide.
“We could figure out who they’re going to target next,” Bucky said quietly, and they were edging dangerously close to the big and ominous fog that lingered over every conversation they had about Shield.
“What would we do?”
Bucky closed his eyes. “Warn them?”
“Okay,” Steve said softly. If that made Bucky feel better—if that somehow stopped the growing desperation in his eyes each time a person went missing—it’d be well worth the risk of exposure.
Bucky liked having something to do about the whole Shield thing anyway.
Steve mostly just didn’t want to talk about it.
He stood, grabbing Bucky’s hands and pulling him to his feet. Bucky swayed forward so that he was leaning into Steve’s chest.
Bucky hummed, laying down his head on Steve’s collarbone, shoulders relaxing. Steve put a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck.
“I love you,” Bucky mumbled.
“Yeah?” Steve whispered, pressing his cheek against the crown of Bucky’s head. “Name five of my albums.”
Bucky laughed.
Steve knew that therapy was helping him, but at this point, it felt like Jen was just trying to get his depression levels into the range of a normal severely depressed person, and even that was a major struggle.
“Have you been journaling?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Steve sighed.
“Any success?”
Steve shrugged. “It all seems pretty trivial to me.”
Jen made sure that Steve felt horrifically guilty if he didn’t journal at least a few times a week, even though he was supposed to do it every day. The idea was that if he could say something positive about himself, even if it was dumb, it would shift the way he thought. Steve didn’t really think it was working, but Jen was the expert here.
“All molehills should be mountains,” Jen said with her frustratingly amazing patience.
“Right,” Steve muttered, slumping in his seat.
“How’s your relationship going?”
“Good,” Steve said after a pause. “Bucky tries his best.”
“And you?”
Steve looked away. “I try. When I—when I can.” He scratched at his stubble. “He’s very—guilty.”
Jen’s mouth ticked downwards for an instant. “Can you elaborate?”
“Yes,” Steve said, just to be as difficult as possible.
Jen arched an eyebrow.
“Well,” Steve said. “He thinks all my fucked up shit is his fault. And I won’t argue that he sent me away, and that he let me start running, but.” Steve waved a hand. “I’m fucked up because of me.”
“Ah,” Jen said neutrally.
“His guilt makes him…very forgiving. For all the shit I pull.”
“That ‘shit’ isn’t always your fault.”
“I know it’s ‘Major Depressive Disorder,’ sometimes,” Steve said with an eyeroll.
“Steve.”
Steve shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about that today.”
Jen nodded. “Okay.” The Depression Talk was Jen’s favorite topic, but Steve was not in the mood today.
There was a long pause. “We love each other, anyway. So. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
Jen’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead, but Steve didn’t particularly feel like analyzing his relationship anymore. Jen seemingly sensed as much and smiled encouragingly. “And America?”
Steve smiled. “No problems with America.”
“Good,” Jen said firmly. Steve knew she was supposed to be all neutral and shit, but he also knew that she loved America. She wasn’t alone in that. “The rest of the kids?”
“David continues to be amazing,” Steve said, remembering the changing colors of his room. “Tommy still won’t say that he’s part of the family. Kate seems pretty happy. Billy—he has some shit to deal with between him and Tommy, but he doesn’t like talking about it. Teddy is mad at me for ruining his favorite pair of shoes. And Loki has the same problems that he always has.”
Jen flashed another smile. “Teddy’s shoes?” she asked, trying not to sound amused.
“We wear the same size,” Steve said defensively. “He has nice shoes.”
“Have we discussed privacy and property?”
“No,” Steve said with a scowl.
“Things became much less communal during the Cold War,” Jen explained, still sounding kind of charmed by the whole thing despite herself.
“’Cause collectivization and socialism are bad,” Steve said, glaring at the floor, thinking about Nick Fury and his twitching eyebrow.
“You’re wearing Bucky’s T-shirt.”
“He doesn’t have a problem with it. Plus, this was an accident. It was just the closest shirt this morning.”
“Of course,” Jen said placatingly. “Why don’t we talk about your eating schedule now?”
Steve rolled his eyes, trying not to groan in annoyance. “Fine.”
Jen offered another neutral smile.
Bucky was asleep, and Steve was awake.
He knew he could wake him, but Steve didn’t like to do that. Bucky needed all the sleep he could get, and just because Steve was still set in the fugitive mindset didn’t mean that he had to dictate their sleep schedule. Quite the contrary.
He sat at the edge of the bed and texted America.
STEVE: You awake ?
AMERICA: Meet you in the kitchen in 5
Steve absently pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top—and only the sweatpants were Bucky’s—take that Jen.
America was digging through the freezer to find their claimed cartons of ice cream, wearing a Captain America T-shirt and boxers.
“I hate that shirt,” Steve complained as she passed him his ice cream.
“I know,” America said, eyes crinkling.
At least the sight of the American flag didn’t send him into a massive panic attack anymore. These days, it usually just agitated his nervous tic.
They settled onto the couch in the living room, America throwing her feet into Steve’s lap.
“I found a documentary about Star Wars.”
“Sounds good,” Steve said. It was something he could pay half attention to. If need be, he and America could talk with the documentary as a safety crutch in the background.
The narrator was discussing Carrie Fisher’s impressive legacy when Steve whispered, “Are you happy?”
America stared forward, and Steve evaluated her expression. Her eyes were hard, jaw tight. “I think I could be,” America said slowly, and she sounded almost disappointed.
“What’s on your mind?” Steve asked.
America’s shoulders tightened. “I don’t want to talk about it yet.”
Steve understood that better than anyone, so he returned his attention to the movie.
“This is ridiculous,” Tommy was saying. “It’s both.”
David and Kate stared at him in mutual horror. “This is a war with two sides,” Kate said stubbornly.
“Two distinct sides,” David agreed. “There is no happy middle ground. You have to choose.”
“I’m Switzerland,” Tommy protested.
“Don’t choose David.”
“David is a beautiful bisexual all-knowing angel.”
“Hey,” Kate snapped. “You kissed me. That one time. Don’t I get a little love?”
Steve blinked in surprise. “You—“
“Kate is a mean witch who is 30% straight,” Tommy said.
Kate glowered. “Thirty-five,” she muttered under her breath.
“When did this happen?” Steve asked America. They’d sorta formed a dog pile in the living room at 5:00 in the morning because Kate had accidentally contacted America through the group text.
“When she had her crisis of gay feelings for me,” America said smugly.
“Listen,” Kate said weakly, not bothering to finish with a complete thought.
“I would just like to say,” Teddy mumbled sleepily, “that I feel as though this debate requires hot chocolate.”
“Bucky’s asleep,” Billy whispered, looking even more drowsy.
“You guys can make your own damn hot chocolate,” Steve said.
“This is why you’re the dad,” Teddy said.
“And Bucky’s the mom,” Billy agreed.
“I am nobody’s father figure,” Steve said, but everyone ignored him.
Loki stared mournfully at the TV. “I don’t care about caves and caverns,” he moaned, throwing a melodramatic arm over his eyes.
“You are the only person in the room without an opinion,” David said.
“That just isn’t true,” Teddy said mildly.
“Shut up, Teddy,” Kate and David said in unison.
Billy laughed.
There was a little clatter in the kitchen, and Bucky shouted, "Pancakes?"
“Pan-fucking-cakes!” Loki yelled back, suddenly alert and happy. He bolted for the kitchen.
America rolled her eyes so hard that Steve was distantly worried she’d given herself a headache. She leaned against Steve’s side and pushed her feet into the arm of the couch. Kate absently laid a hand on her foot from where she was trying to recruit Tommy by the other couch.
It was kind of sickeningly adorable.
"Billy,” Kate said. “Tell Tommy what’s up.”
“It’s a cave,” Billy said after a pause. “You can look up the definition for caverns, and they’re really just a subcategory of caves. Calling it a cave allows for less inaccuracy if we find it has a big open-mouthed exit. All caverns are caves, but not all caves are caverns.”
“But this cave is a cavern,” David said. “We’re literally just being more accurate.”
“What if you find uncavernly characteristics?”
“I doubt we will. We’ve been exploring that thing all year.”
“They’ve been exploring Mammoth cave for, like, 300 years, and they’re still not done exploring,” Billy said rationally.
“This is a small cavern,” David said.
“How do you know?”
“David knows everything,” Tommy said quietly. “He is a beautiful bisexual—“
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” America said warningly.
“Hives,” Steve reminded him.
“Pancakes,” Loki shouted form the kitchen. “You guys.”
Steve trailed after everyone else into the kitchen, trying not to laugh or cry when he saw Bucky wearing a cozy pink sweater and bright red booty shorts.
Nobody even batted an eye at the outfit. Steve considered making a comment about Bucky’s ass, but he decided against it.
“Who are you gonna be for Halloween?” Billy asked.
“I dunno. Aren’t we a little old for Halloween?” Teddy responded.
“Um. No.”
“I’m gonna be Princess Leia,” Kate declared.
Steve tuned out the conversation and leaned next to Bucky by the stove.
“You’re distracting me,” Bucky muttered without looking at him. “I need perfect focus for this.”
Steve shifted his weight to his hip, crossing his arms. Bucky’s eyes flicked over to his tattoos. “You can make pancakes in your sleep,” Steve whispered.
“You have a lot of faith in me,” Bucky said wryly, a smile curling at his lips.
Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky fumbled mid-flip of a pancake. It miraculously landed in the pan as Bucky frantically shoved it forward.
“You motherfucker,” Bucky hissed.
Steve laughed quietly. “I like your shorts.”
“Thanks,” Bucky said, eyes gleaming suddenly. He smirked. “If I move my leg enough, you can see my underwear.”
“Is that a fact?”
“It is.”
“Prove it.”
“Gross gross grossgrossgrossgrossgross,” Loki groaned, burying his face in his hands.
“Please don’t prove it,” America agreed mildly.
Bucky shrugged, turning back to the stove. “Suit yourselves.” He offered Steve the next pancake.
“I’m not hungry,” Steve said, taking the plate.
“Eat your breakfast, Steve,” Bucky said, not batting an eye.
Steve sat down next to America, and she shoved some fruit in his direction, scowling challengingly.
I hate them both, Steve thought as he hooked his foot around America’s ankle.
Steve had fallen asleep in the van, which wasn’t unheard of, but it’d been happening less frequently the sadder Bucky looked in the mornings. But it still happened.
He awoke to the sound of someone moving outside.
Steve’s heart hammered against his chest, and he damned his fucking bright purple hair as he tried to covertly peer through the window.
And that was—
Steve launched himself out of the car, an entirely different fear pumping through his veins. “What are you doing?”
America froze before turning around. “What’re you doing?”
“I was—sleeping,” Steve said, confused, gesturing towards the van.
America glared at him. “I hate when you do that.”
“Sleep in the van?”
“Yes.”
Steve lifted a shoulder. “I just—old habits?” He frowned. “You’re distracting me.”
“Was I?”
“America,” Steve said. “What are you doing?”
“Going for a walk,” America said, her voice hard.
“You’re a fucking amazingly powerful and talented person,” Steve said wryly, leaning his shoulder against the van, “but you are not good at lying.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fuck,” Steve sighed, flicking hard at his wrist. America flinched. “You can’t keep using that on me.”
America looked vaguely uncertain for a moment. “I—“
“There is nothing you can say that I haven’t done more shamefully.”
America wrinkled her nose. “I’m not ashamed of this.”
“Then—“
“You’ll be angry,” America said with such conviction that Steve had to pause for a good minute.
America knew the depths of his anger even better than Bucky. She maybe didn’t know his anger like Sam knew it, but Sam had known the anger that fueled Captain America’s every moment. The anger that remained belonged to him.
Steve closed his eyes. “Please,” he whispered.
America heard him across the relatively sizeable distance between them. She flexed her fingers. “I don’t…”
Steve stared at his feet, feeling like a damn hypocrite. “Sorry.”
America walked up to the van and leaned against it next to him. “You have to promise not to freak out on me, viejo.”
Steve let out a big breath. “Okay. Promise.”
America was silent for a few long moments before she spoke. “I do not have the luxury to belong to one universe.”
Steve frowned, the lines in his face deepening.
“I’m the only person in existence who can travel between the multiverse,” America said, scowling hard, defensively, like she thought Steve would jump in to argue with her at any moment. “I can’t favor one universe.”
“Oh,” Steve said hesitantly, beginning to understand, a pit of dread closing off his throat.
“I have a duty to prevent catastrophes as best as I can in all the universes worth saving,” America said decisively. She looked at Steve, eyes sad but resolute. “You’ve kept me too long.”
Steve’s breath hitched, and he told himself that it wasn’t because he felt like crying. “So—so you—“
America let her head thunk back against the van. She glared at the stars. “I’ve been visiting other universes at night. To help them.”
“When have you been sleeping?”
America shrugged. “Whenever I can.”
Steve felt sick. He’d seen the feeling painted over Sam’s face when he told him he was leaving. He’s seen it deep-rooted in Natasha’s eyes every year. He’s felt it in every one of Bucky’s touches. This was the perpetual selfish fear that came with loving a runner. It felt as though his skin had turned inside out as the realization came to him.
“When are you leaving for good?” he asked, voice hollow.
America looked almost devastated. “I don’t know.”
Steve stared at the fucking stars, taking a moment to feel the bite of the October wind against his face. The leaves were turning color. The goosebumps that should be dotting his bare arms were absent, as they always were after he’d been defrosted. “I don’t want you to end up like me,” he finally said.
“There are worse things,” America said.
Steve squeezed his eyes shut and tried to smother the shudder with zero success. For the first time, he understood Bucky’s terror at the kids’ need to face adulthood. “Will you ever come back?” Steve asked, pretending that his voice wasn’t choked.
America was silent for a long moment before she leaned against his side. Steve reflexively relaxed a little bit. “Every now and then.”
“You can’t afford to get too attached,” Steve guessed defeatedly.
“Too late for that,” America said wryly. “But more attached, yes.” She dug her cheekbone into Steve’s shoulder. “Are you angry?”
“Sad,” Steve said.
“Me too.”
“Have you told anyone else?”
America rolled her eyes. “What do you think?”
Steve smiled—a ghost of something good. “You have to tell Kate.”
America winced. “Yes,” she agreed, pained.
“Tú eres mi persona favorita, y te quiero.”
“Sé,” America said quietly, a sad smile flickering across her lips. “También te quiero.”
They stood like that for a long while.
Steve and America had sunk back into mutual sad silences to deal with the whole thing, and Steve noticed how tired she looked all the time.
She didn’t deserve to have the responsibility of the multiverse on her shoulders. She was a young Atlas, eyes glazed with righteous resolution, and Steve had never been more sad or more proud for a person.
“Steve,” Bucky said from his laptop, frowning.
Steve hummed from their bed, tired and not ready to face the day yet.
“Steve. Come over here.”
“Need some incentive,” Steve mumbled.
“Steve.” Bucky climbed over him and kissed him hard. He pulled away, eyes wide. “Come over here.”
Steve reluctantly stood and followed Bucky to his computer.
“I’ve been on the Registered list,” Bucky said quietly, voice low and strained and—afraid? “Looking for Shield’s possible next targets, and—“
“No,” Steve said, feeling cold, staring at the screen.
“She has regenerative abilities,” Bucky finished miserably.
Kamala’s face stared back at them from the screen, and Steve clenched his fist. If America was Atlas, he was Erinyes, vengeful and horrifying and born for bloodshed.
He was pulling on jeans before Bucky had finished turning around. “I’m going to visit,” he said shortly. “To warn her.”
“Steve, think this through,” Bucky said, voice strained.
“No.”
“They’re obviously after people like you. They—if they catch you, they will kill you.”
Steve turned around. “They’ve been chasing me for almost forty years.” He flashed a confident smile that he didn’t feel. “They won’t catch me.”
Bucky looked uncertain. “But…”
“I know Shield better than myself some days,” Steve said. He strode forward and cupped the back of Bucky’s neck. “They don’t stand a chance against me.”
Bucky sagged into Steve’s chest. “Right. You’re right. But you’re not going alone.”
“I can’t take you guys,” Steve said, horrified. “Bucky. They’re after regenerative abilities. How many people in this house fall under that category?”
Bucky flinched. “But—“
“Trust me to do this?” Steve asked. He knew he wasn’t being fair. He was using Bucky’s fear against him. Bucky was scared that Steve would be reckless enough to get himself killed, and Bucky was scared of pushing Steve away by not trusting him.
“I trust you,” Bucky said without hesitation. “You just don’t deserve to do this alone.”
Steve kissed him. “Hey. Shield’s mine.”
Bucky nodded slowly. “If you—“
“We don’t do goodbyes,” Steve reminded him.
“And where did that get us?” Bucky said darkly, a flash of self-hatred flickering through his gaze.
“Stop.”
“Sorry.” Bucky raked a hand through his hair. “Just.”
“I’m gonna drive to Jersey City,” Steve said, “warn Kamala, bring her back here or to the Avengers Tower if that’s what she prefers, and I’ll be back before dinner.”
“Dinner,” Bucky said firmly. He smiled. “You better eat it.” But there was fear in his eyes.
Steve kissed him again. “I gotta go.”
“Yeah,” Bucky said distantly. “Dinner.” He grabbed Steve’s face. “Steve Rogers, you are the great love of my life, and if you die—“
Steve tapped their foreheads together. “I’m too hard to kill,” he said. “Trust me.”
Bucky’s mouth shut with a click.
“I love you too,” Steve whispered, pressing one final kiss to Bucky’s lips before drawing away. “Dinner.”
“Dinner,” Bucky echoed, watching him go.
Steve headed straight for the van.
“Steve!” Kamala said happily, throwing her door open. “Wassup?”
“Can I come in?” Steve asked, jittery. His fingers wouldn’t stop spasming.
“Always,” Kamala said, although a furrow appeared in her brow. “You alright? Where’s America?”
“Oh, she’s at home,” Steve said, following Kamala inside.
“Well, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, sitting down on her couch and patting the spot next to her. Steve slowly sat too.
“Can I turn on some music?”
Kamala’s eyebrows shot up. She gestured to her TV. “By all means,” she said, clearly confused.
Steve fiddled with the TV for a moment before setting it to play some songs from a pop radio station. He turned the volume up until he was sure that even the best bugs wouldn’t be able to pick up their conversation.
He turned around, facing Kamala’s semi-bewildered expression. He gestured her closer so that she’d be able to hear him.
“How much do you know about Shield?”
Her expression darkened. “Enough.”
Steve let out a shaky breath. “They’ve been kidnapping people on the Registered list for years.”
Kamala straightened. “Fuck them.”
“Wait—they—people with regenerative abilities. You may be next.”
Kamala’s lips parted. “You’re serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking? They’re getting desperate. They—“
“We’re going to Avengers Tower right now. We have to tell them so that they can help take down that piece of shit organization once and for all.”
“Thank god,” Steve sighed in relief. “Grab anything you may need. Let’s go.”
Kamala shoved some things into a bag while Steve took out his phone.
STEVE: What’s for dinner?
BUCKY: wouldnt u like 2 kno
BUCKY: get home nd ull find out
STEVE: <3
“Okay,” Kamala said breathlessly.
“I’m leaving the stereo on in case they’re—“
“—listening. Got it. A little quieter though so that my neighbors don’t break in before Shield does.”
Steve wrapped an arm around Kamala’s shoulders as they made their way down to the van.
When they’d buckled up, Steve let out a breath of tension and started the engine.
“So,” Kamala said conversationally. “Regenerative abilities?”
“I know,” Steve said darkly.
“Are you on a suicide path?”
Steve’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel tighter. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.
“We worry,” Kamala said after a pause.
Steve smiled morbidly. “Yes.”
Steve didn’t want to think about the fact that America would be leaving soon, and he would have no one who really needed him anymore, if she ever really needed him in the first place. America hadn’t left yet, though.
“Have you visited the Avengers Tower since we first met?” Kamala asked, kicking her feet up and fiddling with her scarf.
Steve snorted. “No.”
“So this’ll be fun,” Kamala declared with a sarcastic note of cheer. She side-eyed him. “Please don’t tell me that’s why you’re wearing a tank top.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re showing off your tattoos. The Avengers are going to see your tattoos and be thrown off of the Steve Rogers trail.”
Steve shrugged innocently. “I brought a jacket. I like the cold, though.”
“I wonder why,” Kamala muttered sarcastically. Steve decided to ignore her.
Traffic wasn’t terrible for Jersey, but Steve was convinced that it was because they were in fucking Jersey, and no one wanted to be in fucking Jersey, so there were fewer cars out than usual.
That didn’t mean he had to be any less attentive, though.
Kamala was bobbing her head to a song from the 1980s when the car in front of them skidded and swerved sideways. “Fuck,” Steve snapped, slamming on his breaks, but they couldn’t stop fast enough, and they crashed into the car in front of them.
The car behind them smashed straight into their bumper, jolting them forward, and Steve groaned. He touched his forehead, feeling a hot trickle of blood. Looking at Kamala, she’d shrunk down to the size of a leaf to avoid being hit, and she was clinging to her seatbelt with wide, alarmed eyes.
“You okay?” Steve croaked.
“Yep,” Kamala squeaked, growing back to her normal size, tucking her feet beneath her. “You?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Kamala frowned at him, and then her eyes flicked behind Steve, and her gaze sharpened. “Steve—“
The glass behind him shattered, and Steve looked sharply through the window. There was a pfft of a silenced gun being fired, and Steve wrenched his legs free from the twisted metal beneath his torso, trying to push himself between—
The bullet hit Kamala in the chest.
“No!” Steve shouted, climbing frantically towards her, but—thank god—there was no blood. Kamala still had a pulse. She wasn’t injured. It was a tranquilizer.
Steve looked back at the window. That had to be—
“Motherfuckers.”
Steve's legs screamed in pain as he launched himself out the remains of the window, glass scraping long cuts along his sides.
Where was it—where was the—the gun—
Steve pulled the firearm out of his boot and took aim.
But where the fuck were they?
Steve turned in a slow circle, and a woman got out of the car behind him. Steve pointed the gun at her.
Her eyes sharpened, and she flicked her wrist. Before Steve could react, pain screamed through his muscles, and he collapsed forward, eyes burning, eyes ringing with the sting of electricity.
He tightened his grip on the gun and fired towards her even as she ran. The bullet missed by a few inches, and Steve gritted his teeth and stumbled half a step to the side, firing again. The bullet grazed her side, but she didn’t stop.
Something hit him in the back, and a numb feeling engulfed his muscles. He saw the gun clatter to the ground, miraculously not firing as it made impact.
Steve started to fall forward, but the woman with the electricity caught him. Whoever had stunned him knelt down next to them, and Steve heard the clinking noise of handcuffs clamping down on his wrists.
Fuck.
Nearly forty years of chase, and all it took was five minutes?
The tranquilizer was already starting to wear off, and even if he couldn’t hear very well right now, he knew his body, and he knew his threats.
Steve snapped his head back and hit the man with a clack. He headbutted the woman, springing off the ground to jump over the handcuffs.
He wouldn’t make it that easy for them. Even if he couldn’t feel his body. He could use that to his advantage.
He grabbed the man and pulled the chain of his cuffs taught against his neck as he blinked back to himself rapidly. Then gasped, clawing at his neck.
“Let me leave,” Steve said through gritted teeth.
The woman shook her head. “Casualties acceptable,” she said apologetically, and then flicked her wrist again.
The pain of the electrocution coursed through Steve again, and the man he was holding screamed. Steve’s knees buckled, and he gasped for breath. The woman approached cautiously. Steve kicked her legs out from under her, and when she tried to use the momentum to her advantage, he tackled her in spite of his screaming muscles.
“Not fucking yet,” Steve shouted, ready to beat this lady half to death, when another tranquilizer hit him in the neck. His elbows collapsed, and his forehead hit the asphalt with a dizzying crack of pain as the woman rolled out of the way.
They shot him again in the back, and the world started to fade out.
Steve awoke in a cell, and the first thing he was absolutely certain of was that they somehow didn’t have Kamala.
He sagged in relief, eyes fluttering shut. How he was sure, he didn’t know. But they didn’t have her.
This fight was between Steve and Shield.
The woman who’d shot him watched him wearily from the other side of his enclosure, which looked like it was made of glass but most certainly wasn’t.
Steve laughed, voice low and rough. “Back where we started, yeah?” he asked, grinning.
The woman shifted her weight. She must’ve been under orders not to talk to him.
Steve cleared his throat and spit out a wad of blood. He knew it hadn’t been a long time, because his injuries were still on fire. He felt dizzy. “Only took you forty years, right?”
“I think it’s closer to thirty-five,” someone said, and Steve’s eyes tracked the new woman in the room. “But, seeing as you evaded us for sixty-seven years the first time, I’m going to count this as an achievement.”
“Hmm,” Steve mused. “I wasn’t running when I was frozen.”
“Which should make your attempts to escape us even more pathetic, yes?”
Steve rolled his eyes. “I know that I’m not here for banter.”
“That’s true,” the woman allowed, smiling gently at him. “For what it’s worth, Captain, I am sorry about this.”
Steve searched her face for a moment before snorting, ignoring the flare of pain through his skull. “No, you’re not.”
The woman shrugged. “Well,” she said, not sounding remorseful in the least.
“Ryan,” the other woman said quietly.
Ryan turned to her. “Problem, Agent Enu,” she said warningly.
Enu dropped her gaze.
Ryan turned back to Steve. “We didn’t take in Ms. Marvel,” she said conversationally. “I thought you should know. We aren’t—monsters.”
“Right,” Steve said, trying for an amused tone and somehow succeeding.
Ryan narrowed her eyes. “Just because you used to be a superhero does not make you the hero.”
Steve dropped his gaze, hating how her words scraped a raw trail of defeat through his chest.
And what did he know? Maybe Shield would use the serum for something noble.
“What do you want from me?” Steve asked, even though he already knew the answer—the answer had been carved into his veins the moment he’d met Abraham Erskine. His fate had been decided over a century ago, whether he’d been aware of it or not.
Steve wiped a smear of blood of his forehead self-consciously.
Ryan offered him a once-over, grim and self-righteous and familiar and chilling.
“Captain, we want to save the world.”