The thing that strikes Steve most in the aftermath of their loss is a persistent, inescapable hush; a quiet that lingers wherever one goes, leaving a constant ringing in his ears.
The entire planet is in mourning. Every single person he encounters has lost someone they love dearly, rendering them silent with grief and shock even as life stubbornly continues on. It's like the world is frozen as it struggles to comprehend what hit it, and it isn't long until Steve hates the quiet more than anything else.
Noise would provide a distraction he desperately craves. It would help erase the memory of Bucky disintegrating before his eyes, a frightened 'Steve?' the only goodbye he would ever get. It would erase Wanda's silent acceptance as she too disappeared, and the sight of Vision's lifeless form sprawled across scattered leaves. It would erase the sound of Okoye's horrified scream as her king died in front of her, while Rhodey's desperate call of Sam's name went unanswered. If the hush were to lift even a little then Steve might be able to forget – just for a moment - but the world is so very quiet now and those memories linger at the forefront of his mind wherever he goes.
The blanket of silence becomes suffocating once he ventures beyond the city, forcing himself to confront the small farm that Bucky had called home. Steve's only been here twice before. The occasions where he could afford to return to Wakanda had been far and few between, with most updates on Bucky's progress coming over the phone, but he's been fortunate enough to gather fond memories of this place.
Seeing it so deserted is jarring. The farm is as beautiful as it always was, with the sunlight glittering across the lake's surface and the timeless huts exuding a sense of homeliness even now. There's even the odd goat roaming the fields, blissfully unaware that the world has changed irrevocably. Steve could very well be locked in a memory if it weren't for the undeniable fact that the farm is too quiet now; there are no fishermen wading into the waters; no children playing in the fields, filling the air with songs and laughter. There's no Bucky resting quietly by the shore, lost in peaceful contemplation as he watches the sun dip beneath the trees.
Bucky will never set foot here again. He was only given a few months to experience the simple life he'd always craved before another fight came calling. One which tore him away from Steve once and for all.
The pain that encases Steve then is indescribable but he holds it tight, treasuring it as he ventures onwards. He's grateful that he's even capable of experiencing pain. During the aftermath of their failure he had been consumed by a void that felt inescapable; a numb sense of shock that made him wonder if he would ever feel again. Deep down he'd wanted to scream and rage and launch himself back into the fight, only for his energy to be drained entirely as the full extent of their loss became clear.
He'd wanted Sam by his side, as the ashes that were once Bucky slipped through his fingers. He would have given anything to be able to share his grief with a friend, especially one as strong as Sam, rather than enduring it alone.
However, Rhodey's defeated expression had been enough to tell him that he'd lost Sam too. Both of his closest friends had been stolen away in a matter of seconds, and for several days he felt like he too had been reduced to nothing.
This pain is new, but Steve embraces it even as it claws into his heart and burns his eyes. It is infinitely better than feeling nothing; Bucky and Sam and Wanda and T'Challa and everyone else he's lost deserve far better than that.
His feet guide him towards the clearing of their own accord, past deserted huts which now hold nothing but ghosts. A soft breeze whistles by his ears, interrupting the hush for a precious few seconds, but once it's passed all he has left is silence.
Bucky's hut looks untouched. Little has changed since Steve was here last – barely two months ago – and he can almost convince himself he'll find Bucky waiting inside. Just a few steps could bring him face-to-face with his oldest friend; his hair tied back in an elaborate bun and a hint of sunburn gracing his cheeks from time spent outdoors. If he closes his eyes he can envision the reunion, complete with Bucky's teasing 'nice beard' and an all-too-fleeting hug, before they embark on a stroll around the lake and catch up on everything they've missed of each other's lives.
There should have been many more reunions like that. If Steve had had more sense, he would have ventured to Wakanda every time he was granted a few days to breathe. Perhaps it could have culminated in something more permanent; a long retirement as they spent the rest of their days in peace.
Little chance of that now.
Steve clenches his fist, setting aside the last of his hesitation, and peels back the fabric guarding the hut's entrance. That meagre barrier is the only protection Bucky ever needed out here, he thinks ruefully, before bracing himself for the emptiness he'll find within. This isn't like Bucharest; he isn't going to turn around to find Bucky observing him this time. That memory shouldn't make him nostalgic but it does.
The first thing he sees when he steps inside is a neat pile of clothing laid on the carpet alongisde the rest of Bucky's belongings, and an opened notebook resting on a tidy desk. The latest entry remains unfinished, a messy scrawl cut off mid-sentence. Steve forces himself to look away, unwilling to face Bucky's memories or the knowledge that he'll never write another word, and in doing so he realises he isn't alone.
It isn't Bucky he finds. He curses his heart for even daring to quicken with hope upon spotting a lone figure sitting on the cot, but he still offers a weak smile when Shuri lifts her head and jumps at the sight of him.
"Sorry, I can-" Steve starts, noticing the fresh tear-stains on Shuri's face and wondering if she'd prefer to be alone. She shakes her head before he can complete his offer though, and shifts to the edge of the bed to offer him space.
"It's all right," she says, swiping furiously at her tears and composing herself with a shaky breath. Steve wanders over to sit beside her following her wordless invitation, trying to set aside his own pain while Shuri comes to terms with hers. "I couldn't stay at the palace any longer. I keep expecting T'Challa to show up like nothing's happened, like everything's normal. He should be there and he isn't and I just... I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. I just needed to get away from there."
Steve understands what that's like. He shuts his eyes against the dim light from outside and feels his heart break on Shuri's behalf. He knows she's been working non-stop since the battle; working through her grief and banishing any tears before they can slide down her cheeks. Steve's only seen her unleash her pain once, when she and Okoye had held each other desperately after the general was forced to confirm T'Challa's death.
It's easy to forget how young Shuri is sometimes. She's stronger than anyone should have to be in the wake of losing her brother, and it makes sense that she too needs time to grieve alone. It's not as if her work can provide a distraction, so involved is she in efforts to rebuild the city's infrastructure and provide medical aid to the wounded. The battle they lost – the one which claimed her brother and so many others – must haunt her every waking moment.
"I think I'm here for the same reason," Steve says, his voice barely above a whisper. Anything louder would feel disrespectful, considering where he's sitting. "Nothing feels real anymore. I don't think it ever will. But losing Bucky, losing Sam... I need to face up to it. If I keep hiding from what we lost then I'll never get over the pain."
He doubts he'll recover from the pain regardless, but he can't waste his life seeking distractions from reality. There's still so much left to do. The entire world is in turmoil. More than half of her occupants have been lost, between those killed by the 'Snap' and those killed in the aftermath as cars lost their drivers and planes lost their pilots. The toll of those collateral deaths is still being estimated, but it promises to be substantial, and every single one feels like a knife in Steve's heart. He's faced hopeless situations before, but this... there's no recovering from this.
"I'm sorry about Sergeant... about Bucky," Shuri says eventually, reaching over to take Steve's hand and squeeze it gently. Steve wonders if the contact is intended for his benefit or hers. "He was nice. Quiet but nice. The children adored him, they called him the-"
"White Wolf," Steve finishes, and the first genuine smile he's worn in days comes without warning. "He was telling me that had become a thing."
"I'm afraid that was my fault," Shuri admits, releasing a shaky laugh and wiping fresh tears from her eyes. She glances around the sparsely decorated hut, still as tidy as Bucky had left it, before looking to Steve with a sad smile. "He never seemed to mind."
"He didn't," Steve assures her. 'White Wolf' had suited Bucky far more than 'Winter Soldier' ever had, and the reminder of his fond smile as the children shouted it across the plains makes Steve yearn for simpler times. Had that only been two months ago? The constant stress of being on the run and the recent battle makes it feel like years since he and Bucky spent time together.
"I'm sorry too," he adds after a beat. He doesn't miss the way Shuri tenses at his side before closing her eyes. She's probably heard more condolences this past week than she can count, and he feels a twinge of guilt for having to add to them. "T'Challa was a great man. I wish I'd gotten the chance to know him better."
Shuri utters a quiet 'thank you', finally letting her tears fall without resistance. Steve can feel his own threatening to come forth, the burn behind his eyes undeniable, but he forces them down and settles for squeezing Shuri's hand, anchoring them both to the here and now.
They stay for as long as they can handle the silence, managing to find temporary comfort in it despite everything. It's only when the sky turns a deep orange - threatening the approach of night - that Shuri rises to her feet with purpose. Her eyes are still red and there's a tension gripping her frame that Steve's all too familiar with, but her expression is determined as she wipes away the last of her tears and takes a steady breath.
"I should head back," she says, voice no longer betraying her grief, and Steve rises as well. He's not sure he can spend much longer here either, especially not alone. "Okoye and mother worry about me enough as it is, and there's still so much work to be done."
The latter half of that statement applies to Steve as well. It won't be long before he too needs to bury his pain and get back to work. Thor and Tony - whose return has been the sole bright spot of an endless week - are in the process of concocting a plan to reclaim the Time Stone, fuelled only by a vague sense of hope imparted on them by a wizard named 'Strange'. Steve's not sure he believes Thanos's slaughter can be undone, and the thought of getting his hopes up only for them to come crashing back down is too terrible to consider.
That said, this is the closest thing to a productive idea they're ever going to get. The only alternative is mindless revenge - something which won't help those they've lost and will provide little comfort to those left behind.
They walk back to the city in relative silence, the suffocating hush falling upon them once again. The odd passer-by they encounter pays them no heed, and it's only when towering lights come into view and the comforting drone of activity reaches their ears that Steve feels able to speak.
"We might be able to get them back," he says, then instantly regrets it. The words sound so naïve to his ears that he wants to scream. "Tony says there might be a way to beat Thanos and reverse what he did. It's a tiny chance but-"
"I know," Shuri interjects, her tone neutral as though trying to suppress a fool's hope. Their entire forces couldn't beat Thanos the first time around, and what little remain now are broken beyond repair. Any plans they have are built upon shaky hypotheticals and little else, but Steve suspects they're all so desperate to drag their loved ones back from the dead that they'll eagerly try anything.
"My brother and your friend have a habit of rising from the dead," Shuri continues, and she turns to Steve with a weak smile that doesn't quite meet her eyes. "I can't give up on them now. Whatever happens, I want to help."
Steve nods. Shuri helping them was never in question; even if she wasn't as capable as she is, there isn't a force on Earth that could stop her from trying to save her brother. Just like there's nothing that can stop Steve from trying to save Bucky and Sam and the countless others he's failed.
Doing nothing while the slightest hope remains isn't an option. It never has been.
"Well then," Steve says as they make their approach towards the lab, the bright lights from within suggesting plenty of activity in spite of the darkening hour. His trip to Bucky's home has done little to ease his pain and he doubts Shuri's own retreat has eased hers, but there's a determination in his heart that he'd once believed to be lost, and when he looks at Shuri he can see it burning in her eyes as well.
"Let's get to work."
A/N - I hope you enjoyed this! I've been toying with an idea like this since first seeing the movie but it's taken a while to form into something coherent. Steve and Shuri have endured so much that I'm (perhaps naively) hopeful that Avengers 4 will fix things and let them reunite with both Bucky and T'Challa by the end.
Thank you for reading this! As always, any feedback is appreciated.