Prologue

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

-O Captain! My Captain! –Walt Whitman

Natasha had been death to enough men in her life that she knew the exact moment that life faded from the eyes.

What happened after was business best left to Priests and Clerics and no concern of hers, but in that moment that still belonged to her, just as the last breath was leaving the body—a spark of light that had been there was suddenly gone.

She suspected Tony recognized it, too, because the moment the light faded from Steve's eyes, he became frantic. She didn't have to look over at Loki to know he was dead. Thor's howls of grief were enough of an indication on their own.

"Cap?" Tony shook Steve, his body moving limply with the movement. Tony shook harder. "Steve! Get the hell up! You're Captain America!" he began frantically shaking Steve's shoulders, the Captain's head lolling to the side.

"You don't get to do this!" Tony shouted, wild eyes catching those of a healer. "Save him!"

"I cannot," she said, soaking up the cooling blood with great swaths of fabric, wiping away the blood from Steve's mouth and chin.

"Don't give me that bullshit! You people are gods!" Tony raged, hitting Steve's chest. He snarled angrily, and turned away from them to focus on Steve's corpse.

"Never mind, I can bring him back! I brought myself back," he swore as he began chest compressions, ignoring the cracking beneath his hands.

"Even gods die," Heimdall said calmly in Tony's ear as he wrested him away. "You should be proud. It was a warrior's death."

Tony wrenched away from the guardian.

"You can go fuck yourself!"

He swung out at the Guardian before Clint intercepted him, catching the wild blow with an open palm. His eyes were red, but he knew as well as Natasha that there was nothing to be done now and that the time for grief would be later.

"Hey, come on," Clint said as he pulled Tony away. "Chill out. We've already got Bruce trying to Hulk out."

Bruce was next to Natasha, muscles bulging as he fought against the urge to give into his rage.

As if murdering everyone on this alien planet would bring Steve back.

Natasha slipped her hands around one of his, whispering a string of platitudes to bring him back from the edge.

Tony wheeled on Clint, his face wild.

"You don't get to tell me that! He's not supposed to die! Captain America doesn't die! Jesus Christ, he only just woke up!"

Clint wrapped his arms around Tony again, this time pulling him to his chest.

"I know," he said quietly.

Tony became a heavy weight, sagging against Clint as he leaned his head against his teammate's shoulder, tears leaking from his eyes as his body was wracked in silent sobs.

Clint looked up to the arched ceiling, painted to look like a field on a summer evening, the first stars of the night revealed in a darkening sky.

"I know," he repeated.

0o0o0o0o0o0o

They held silent vigil over their teammate's corpses as Aesir tradition demanded it.

For the Avengers, there was no other option.

Natasha palmed two gold coins she'd gotten in a back alley card game. She'd won on a fluke, but it was the game that changed her life-a member of the Black Widow Program had been there and had been impressed by her luck and slight of hand and had recruited her with the promise that she would never know hunger again.

The rest of the money won that night was long gone, but she'd kept these two coins to remind her where she'd come from. She would never freely admit to being superstitious but she couldn't deny a certain amount of luck in her life, and she'd carried the gold with her every day since the day she'd won them.

Now she slid them over Steve's eyes.

"Your coins," Clint said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

"This should serve the boatman."

While Natasha had never taken stock in religion, Steve could use the luck more than her.

The healers had cleaned and dressed Steve in a simple white tunic, hiding the gruesome mortal wound. There was nothing to be done for the bruises that marred his face.

The work was well done; and were it not for the pale complexion and still chest, Natasha could fool herself into thinking he was simply asleep.

She had known her Captain longer than some of her leaders and less than others, but of everyone she'd ever followed, she thought she might have loved him best. He was everything a leader should be; just and dependable, decisive with just the right amount of tact to keep the team working. Most of all, he was selfless. She could not recall one time Steve had put himself above the team; and she could not think of another she'd ever followed that had been able to do that.

Without him, she wasn't sure the center could hold. On their best days, her teammates defined the word in only the loosest sense and Steve had been the only one who could wrangle them together and make them all better for it. The thought made her sad: of all the teams she'd been participant to, the Avengers was the first one where she actually felt part of something greater than herself.

"What will we do without him?" Bruce voiced her thoughts. Natasha looked at him quickly, but his eyes were on Steve. "I would follow no other."

Natasha looked to Tony for some quip, some failed attempt at humor, but his face was somber, his eyes wet when they met hers. "No," he agreed.

Natasha reached to clasp Steve's cold hand in her own. She had learned at a young age that death was final, but as she tried to imagine the Tower empty of Steve's morning breakfasts; his garden never to be planted again, a lump grew in her chest. For the first time in a long time, she felt tears well in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, and ended up wiping them angrily from her face. But it was as if the floodgates to all the death she'd ever suffered had been opened, and suddenly she was sobbing. She covered her face in an attempt to stop the flow, to hide her embarrassment. The Black Widow did not cry.

She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders and pull her close. She didn't have to look to know it was Clint, and instead of trying to placate her with empty platitudes, he held her quietly. She looked up at him, and his bright blue eyes were blurred, silent streams falling down his face to drop off his chin.

"This is the Hall of Waiting," Frigga said. Natasha looked up, wiping the tears away from her eyes. She usually had a handle on people, but the Queen's non sequitur took her by surprise. Frigga's hand was rested on Loki's face, as if she sought to wake her son. In sleep, his brows were unfurrowed and he looked exceedingly young. "Time moves around this chamber, and as long as they rest here, they will not decay."

"So?" Tony frowned.

"We may bring them back, just yet," the Queen continued, unfazed by Tony's tone.

"That's impossible," Bruce said quickly.

"If the Fates have not cut their thread, and they may not, as long as they are here, they may be saved."

"What do you propose we do?" Tony asked, "Just swoop into…where is it the hell you people go when you die? And what about Steve? Did he—I mean, I don't believe in this stuff, but isn't he supposed to be in Heaven now or something?"

"Loki went to Niflheim," Thor said, his voice gravelly from unshed tears. "So it was always written, and so he must be."

"Niflheim?" Bruce asked. "Isn't that where they were before?"

"This is a different part," Frigga elucidated, smoothing her robes. "The root of Niflheim is great. When Odin came to realize that he had made a place for his warriors and none for those who died dishonorable deaths, a portion of the root was delegated to serve those found wanting, and Hel to reign over it."

"But you disagreed," Natasha guessed. Frigga's face flashed briefly, and she looked away.

"It was many years ago, and how I felt on the matter is unimportant. But what you must know is that they are there now, and they may come back to us, if you are willing to journey to Niflheim and bring their souls back."

"But why would Steve be there? This—" Tony motioned to their dead leader "—was a violent death, and he clearly fought. Anyway, wouldn't he be in his own afterlife?"

"He would," Frigga began slowly, "save for the fact that their souls are bound, and where one goes, the other must follow. I have no doubt my son is in Hel's clutches even now, and with him, your Captain."

"Steve doesn't belong there!" Tony stood up angrily. "This is your curse, you can undo it!"

Frigga's face was smooth, and she regarded Tony with an even gaze. "Not anymore, I cannot."

"You mean to send us on Balder's journey," Thor said suddenly. His massive hands still circles around one of Loki's, he looked at his mother sharply, brow furrowed.

"Yes," she agreed.

"But I have read the sagas, and that journey was unsuccessful. Your endeavors bore no fruit."

"It did not," Frigga said, "but this is not Balder's death, and the Sagas lay unwritten. The Fates have erased their works from our pages, and we may prove victory just yet."

"Wait, what do you mean the "Sagas are unwritten"?" Bruce interrupted.

"When your Captain saved my son, it undid everything the Fates had written. They had never thought to account for one as lowly as a Midgardian, and so when Steve thwarted Loki's attempt to kill his brother, it undid everything ever written. For the first time since the Early Age, before we were aware of our destinies, we again choose freely on the decisions laid before us."

"Woah," Tony said, leaning back against his chair. "I feel like I've fallen down a really, really deep rabbit hole."

"Do you know who killed Steve?" Clint asked, leaning forward. Natasha glanced at him. His tears had dried, though his eyes were still red-rimmed and puffy.

"I do. Many years ago, Odin and Loki killed the father of the goddess of winter and mountains, Skadi. She almost went to war with Odin over the matter, but he offered her a husband, instead. It is well known that she has long loved Balder and so my husband proposed that she could choose from a number of available gods on one condition—that she could only see their feet. She chose the healthiest, strongest feet in the assumption that they belonged to my son.

"Her assumption was wrong, and the owner of the chosen feet was the god of the sea, Njörðr. It was an ill-fated marriage, and she has blamed my family ever since. When she learned the Fates no longer bound her, she decided she would take her vengeance. She sought my son, but found your Captain instead. Either way, she was successful in her mission."

"That bastard killed him after all," Clint said.

Frigga bristled. "You will not speak of my son that way in my presence."

"Listen—" Clint began, leaning forward. Natasha quickly rested a calming hand on his arm. His eyes met hers, and she shook her head. Clint frowned, but leaned back, his arm still tense under her grasp.

"There's a journey?" Bruce prompted.

"It is not easy, and you may prove unsuccessful, as I once would have, but if you are set on bringing your Captain—and my son—back, it is the only option available to us."

"Lady," Tony said with a ghost of his old self, "You've never met the Avengers. Impossible is what we do."

Chapter End