The following days pass in an indistinct blur, buried underground in the base where Sam had last felt whole.
He knows from overhearing whispered conversations that New York was merely a demonstration of power on Thanos' part; a way to batter the Avengers and rob humanity of any hope before launching his final assault. Already there are global reports of attacks by his lackeys, from Johannesburg to London to Delhi, but his aim doesn't seem to be to destroy humanity, but to rule over it. Receiving a cult-like admiration from his followers must have fed his ego, and as the current owner of all existing infinity stones it must be more satisfying to watch billions of people cower in fear than it would be to wipe them out in a single second.
Whatever his motives may be, the message has been sent. It would be suicidal to resist him.
Sam spends most of the aftermath lying in bed, staring into space when sleep refuses to come forth, or beating the shit out of punching-bags in the gym when he's lucky enough to find it deserted. He feels like he's entered a funk where nothing truly exists; where he's been numbed to such an extent that even the relief that more of their team-mates, including Natasha and Clint, have made it out alive barely resonates. When he sees Nat again she gives him a warm hug that he can barely feel and utters words he cannot hear, and it takes more strength than it should to simply give her a small 'thank you'.
He thinks she understands, if the softness of her eyes is any indication.
The party sent to search the blast-site for any survivors return four days later, having yielded little results besides something which apparently requires Sam and Bucky's presence. Reluctantly, he drags himself to the boardroom to which he's been summoned only to find himself face-to-face with Stark, Rhodey, Wanda and, seeming more vulnerable than when Sam had first met him, Fury.
Bucky hasn't bothered to show up, it seems. Sam can't blame him.
"You find anything?" he asks, his voice betraying the fact that he's bone-weary, and the way Stark and Rhodey look at each other has his heart jumping into his throat. It's not good news then, not that it was ever going to be, but the confirmation hurts more than it should.
"Yeah, we-" Tony starts, before taking a deep breath, like that will make any of this easier. He hesitates for several, agonising seconds, leaving Sam with a growing sensation to snap, before he reaches his hands into a metal case tucked beneath the table and pulls its contents into the open. "This was left behind."
Sam feels like he's going to be sick when he sees that familiar shield, spattered with red and cracked in two, and he doesn't realise he's about to collapse until Wanda gently guides him into a chair.
"Maybe he's okay," he says, mostly to himself, and he tries not to notice the way the faces surrounding him fall at his words. "The shield survived when everything else was destroyed, so maybe he…"
"Sam," Tony says, his voice closer than Sam expects, and he looks up to see kind brown eyes looking down at him, showing more sympathy than he should ever receive from Tony Stark. "We think… it looked like the shield was left on purpose. As a taunt."
"Thanos has gotten in touch to brag," Fury says from the head of the table, breaking his silence to reveal that he too is as exhausted as the rest of them. Sam looks over to see the man balancing his head in his hands, as if he would collapse if the support was taken away. "He has Vision and Strange – they're more use to him alive - and Thor's been stranded halfway across the galaxy. He didn't mention Cap. This-" he says, pointing to the broken remains of the shield. "This is all we have."
Sam doesn't say anything, even as the expectant silence drags on uncomfortably. It's strangely easy to tune out his surroundings and focus on the shield in the centre of the table; the shattered item that seems to have provided all their answers and yet isn't enough to shake hopeful uncertainty from Sam's mind. The split between the two halves is ragged and ugly, as if hacked by a knife, and it seems impossible for anything to have caused such damage when Sam has seen the weapon endure so much.
(It will occur to Sam later that the very same could be said for Steve, and the thought will have him slamming a fist against a wall).
It's a relief when the blare of an alarm sounds throughout the compound, a sound now so regular that Sam could set his watch by it, and he rises to his feet with more composure than he expects. "I'm gonna check that out," he says, his voice sounding cold to his ears. God knows how he appears to everyone else in the room. "I need something to do."
The base seems eerily empty as he wanders through deserted corridors in the direction of the exits. Most of the usual occupants are busy throughout the city, providing aid to the vast numbers of injured and displaced civilians, and the blinding red lights and blaring alarms no longer have the power to incite a panicked response as they once did. Instead it's only Sam who climbs the endless stairs to the surface and unbolts the steel doors separating him from the outside world, his gun fitting comfortably in his hands.
When he emerges into the cold night air he finds that he's too late to do anything. Their attackers lie dead or bleeding on the ground, seeming to have been hacked apart by a wild animal, and he spots Bucky relentlessly plunging his knife into the throat of one of the creatures as it shudders in pain.
The knife continues to fall long after the creature goes still, and Sam takes far too long to break from his funk and rush forward to stop his friend's onslaught.
"Get the fuck off me!" Bucky yells as he feels strong arms wrap around him, apparently not having taken in the identity of the new arrival if his vicious attempts to throw Sam off are any indication. "Get off-"
"Hey, Buck, it's me! Look…" It takes more effort than it should to keep his voice steady and composed, but it seems to work. Bucky turns, takes in that it's Sam facing him and not some nameless soldier, and stills in an instant, his protests forgotten. The man looks a state, Sam notes with a jolt; his face and hands covered in the aliens' blood and dark bags hanging under his eyes. He's likely gotten as little sleep as Sam in the last few days, and it seems to have done neither of them any good.
Nothing happens for several moments, and the only sound is the beginnings of rain starting its barrage upon the earth. Sam's about to take Bucky's arm and lead him back inside from the cold, but the other man releases a choked sob and collapses to his knees before he gets the chance. The feeling of cool tarmac against his shins is the only indicator Sam gets that he's apparently done the same.
"They-" Bucky starts, his eyes narrowing in confusion as if his brain refuses to join the dots, and Sam finds that he relates more than he'd like to. He pulls Bucky into a light hug, and his yearning for human contact surprises him; he's been so uncharacteristically distant for the past few days that even this weak contact feels overwhelming. "They killed him, didn't they?"
The question cuts like a knife, but even as denial screams loudly in Sam's head, he finds himself uttering a broken "Yeah, looks like."
Bucky releases a shuddering breath and clenches his eyes shut, before burying his face in Sam's chest like a child trying to hide away from the world. They must seem ridiculous, clinging to each other in the rain, but in that moment, he can't bring himself to care.
It will provide a small comfort later, when they make their way inside and drown their sorrows with burning whisky, that neither of them are truly as alone as they feel.
It's not enough though. Sam doubts it ever will be.
Another week passes with nothing but misery on the news, and though Sam knows he should probably take some of it in if he's going to continue to fight, the temptation to tune it out and remain ignorant is achingly tempting.
The decision to rejoin the fight takes longer than it should. When the offer arises (from T'Challa, of course, because that man has extensive experience in serving his people even in the midst of overwhelming grief) his answer is a definite no that surprises even him.
It takes a whole night for the choice to wage a war within him; a night in which he curses everyone from Thanos to Stark to himself for ever thinking that stopping to make friends with a certain stranger while on a run was ever a good idea.
The wish that he had never met Steve all those years ago sticks with him for a shamefully long time. Tied to it is the wish that he didn't care so much; that he didn't have to constantly lose people who meant the world to him; that he could be sat at home in D.C. watching the chaos on a television screen, horrified but detached, rather than experiencing it first-hand.
He comes to his senses soon enough when he remembers that not meeting Steve also means not meeting people like Wanda and T'Challa and Bucky. That meeting Steve made him better and spared him from years of living alone with the memories of war. That in spite of the pain, meeting Steve was one of the best things that ever happened to him.
He informs T'Challa that he's willing to fight the morning after giving him a hard no, and he tries not to notice the pride on the king's face before he walks away.
"What the hell is this?"
It's not the first question Sam had expected to ask when he'd been called for yet another meeting in a stuffy boardroom, but it's the one that leaves his mouth without hesitation. He can see from the exasperated faces of his peers that it's likely the response they expected, but that doesn't make their proposal any more attractive.
The shield sits in the centre of the table once more, restored into a single entity with a silver metallic strip along the crack indicating the new Vibranium provided by T'Challa. Alongside it lies a folded suit, the red, white and blue visible in the torso while the legs are a less extravagant black. Deep down, Sam thinks he knows where this is all heading, and the idea has nausea rising in his gut.
"Sam," Tony says, trying to sound patient despite the tired lines on his face and the stiffness of his posture. The same exhaustion is mirrored on everyone's faces it seems; so much for 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes'. "The world has its eyes on us. They're watching everything we do, and they're watching us lose. We need to give them a reason to hope."
"The answer's no," he says, with more venom than he intends. There's a bitter taste in his mouth at the implication of what he's being asked to do, and the fact that Bucky apparently hasn't been invited to this meeting feels like a cruel joke. "Me replacing Steve isn't going to give anyone hope. It's just being callous for the sake of it."
"We're not asking you to replace him. That isn't… Look, if we do this, it shows we can move on. That we're not afraid to keep fighting no matter what's thrown at us," Tony says, raising his voice likely more than he's intending to. Sam's impressed; it's like the man actually believes the bullshit he's saying (likely Fury's bullshit, although he supposes it could also be the government's). "Captain America was a symbol we can-"
"Steve wasn't just some fucking symbol-"
"I know!" Tony says, finally snapping, and the silence that follows indicates than no-one was really expecting him to. The room isn't exactly packed - Wanda sits in the corner looking extremely uncomfortable, Natasha seems as impassive as ever although there's doubtless a lot running through her mind, and T'Challa seems merely curious – but the quiet makes Sam feel like thousands of eyes are on him. "I know he wasn't. But we're losing more people than we save, and everyone knows it. I get it, this sucks and it hurts, but the world needs a small glimmer of hope right now. Seeing the shield back in action might be a start."
"So, you want me to be a propaganda piece?" Sam asks, and the guilt that flickers across Tony's face shows he's hit the nail on the head.
"No, I don't," he replies, and though Sam fights to spot the lie, he realises that Stark is being honest. "But we're desperate."
Sam shakes his head, releasing his barely restrained anger in a breath. He's too tired for this, even when the logic starts to sink in. He thinks of the children who might feel better when they see Captain America fighting on the news; thinks of Thanos having to realise that his vicious taunts can only do so much harm.
The chair creaks unpleasantly against the floor as he rises to his feet, his eyes fixed on the shield lying on the table. The sight only makes him feel numb now, as if his ability to feel pain has been drained completely over the last few weeks, and he avoids eye contact with everyone else as he walks towards the door.
"I'll think about it," he says, half-heartedly, before he leaves. "But you should probably start looking for someone else."
A clock is ticking somewhere, and Sam wastes many minutes just listening to it, closing his eyes and slowing his breath, using its rhythm as a lullaby. Occasionally Bucky will breathe loudly or shift in his seat, momentarily disturbing the peace without meaning to, but Sam doesn't mind. The reminder that his friend is with him brings almost as much comfort as the dependable ticking.
"What do you think I should do?" he asks eventually, knowing he can't skirt around the issue forever. He opens his eyes, carefully avoiding looking at the shield on the table in front of him, and meets Bucky's curious gaze.
The other man is curled up on a chair to Sam's right, already suited up in preparation for the inevitable call to battle, but there's a softness in his eyes that contrasts with the harshness of his clothes. Sam's explained the situation to him, and was surprised to find that the other man didn't react with anger or disgust. If anything, he seemed resigned to the idea.
Bucky leans back in his chair, twiddling his thumbs in search of a helpful answer, but Sam doesn't rush him. It's easier to indulge in the illusion that they have all the time in the world, and the more time they waste, the longer he can put off accepting the brutal reality they've found themselves in.
It's a surprise when Bucky finally does speak up, and Sam hangs on every word like a man dying of thirst would savour every drop of water.
"Back in the war, just after he broke us free from Hydra, Steve… he asked me if I'd be willing to follow Captain America into the jaws of death."
Sam watches as a small smirk makes its way onto Bucky's face, and tries to imagine his friends all those decades ago, only able to comprehend the war they were currently fighting rather than the many they'd be forced to endure in the future.
"My answer was no," Bucky continues, and he smiles weakly at Sam's surprise. "You have to understand that, back then, Captain America was nothing but a propaganda piece. He toured around the country, selling the war as this glorious effort while good men, men I knew, died day after day. Every time a new comic arrived at camp, we'd laugh like it was some big joke. Hell, I didn't even know he was Steve at that point."
He stops for a while, his eyes seemingly lost in the past. Sam turns his attention back to the shield - thinks of the way Fury and Tony want him to use it purely for the sake of public image – and wonders if anything has really changed over the years.
"It wasn't Captain America's superiors who sent him into that Hydra compound though; that was all Steve. And every battle after that – every life saved by 'Captain America' – that was Steve too. And I'd follow Steve into Hell if he asked."
Bucky looks up at Sam, and an unspoken understanding flies between the two of them. It's a sentiment they both share; Steve was a pivotal part of both their lives and he managed it just as fully out of costume as he did in it. Captain America was merely a title, one he'd even been willing to give up in Siberia in order to carry Bucky to safety. It was Steve who had mattered.
"I'm not replacing what he was," he says, making sure that they truly understand each other. "I never could."
"I know," Bucky says, getting to his feet and approaching Sam at the head of the table. "But like before, I'm not following Captain America. I'm following you, Sam."
Sam nearly jumps as a firm hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes reassuringly, reminding him that he's solid and alive and that he can still do something that matters. He looks into Bucky's eyes and finds that it's easier to smile than he expects, and he feels a forgotten lightness fill his chest when the smile is returned.
"To the end of the line, then?" he asks, still unused to those words coming from his lips.
"To the end of the line," Bucky responds, his smile widening, though not quite enough to reach his eyes. Sam doubts his own is convincing either. "Which let's face it, is probably just around the corner."
Sam laughs, in spite of everything, and for the first time in two weeks he feels human. The numbness that has swallowed him starts to fade away and he feels solid and complete, if a little fractured. There's still a gaping hole in their trio – there always will be – but there's a battle that still needs to be fought, and though Sam doubts they'll win, he knows they'll give it everything they have.
As the alarm blares throughout the compound once again - the final call to war – Sam knows there's nothing else for it.
He picks up the shield.
A/N - Do you believe me when I say it gets better after this? Because I promise it does.
Thank you for your response to the last chapter! As dark as these two have gotten, the next one should start a return to the more hopeful tone that started off this story. Again, it's probably a better place to leave it than somewhere so bittersweet.
I'll aim to get the next part done as soon as I can, but in the meantime, I hope this one was okay!
