It's becoming embarrassingly often how dumbstruck Tony has found himself these past few months. Ever since his original capture, he has been rendered speechless so many times he thinks maybe he's losing his quick witted sarcasm.

Or maybe it's just Steve.

Because holy hell if the guy didn't know how to knock the air out of the group, physical punch or not.

Tony stands, staring at the super soldier who is glaring at the ceiling, refusing to look at them. Coffee is staining his jeans from when he'd crunched his cup earlier, and he can't shake the fact that maybe he'd never be able to drink coffee again without thinking of Steve.

Steve making him coffee whenever he needed it with the coffee machine upstairs. Tony crushing the coffee cup when he heard Steve be so relieved that he thought he was dead. And now, cooling coffee dripping down his jeans as Steve thinks that Beck has somehow hijacked his brain to recreate the avengers rescuing him.

Which… truthfully he can't even blame Steve for believing, after the circus the man has been through the past months.

"Steve." Bruce's voice is brittle and on edge. "This is not a product of Beck's machine."

"Sure." Steve says flatly, making it very apparent how little he believes the statement. Then his head whips up. "Beck?" He calls out as if he expects him to respond, "Is this what you were talking about when you said we were going to try new tactics? What's different about this machine, what are you getting at?"

"Beck's dead, Steve." Clint says sharply, frustration bleeding into his voice.

Steve's eyebrow raises in amusement, "oh… " he gives a dark chuckle that has Tony almost giving an involuntary shiver at how out of character it sounds, "instead of bringing up my worst memories we're doing deepest wishes, huh?"

The implication of that statement leaves them speechless again and Tony shakes his head. He's never heard Steve wish ill will on anyone. Not that he blames him, but how much of Steve is so changed that he wishes death on someone?

"No, Steve. You're safe in the compound and Beck really is dead. Zemo killed him in Montana." Steve flinches, his voice dropping an octave when he speaks,

"I'm supposed to just believe that?"

"Yes, Steve." The desperation in Bruce's voice is palpable. "You have to, do you remember the water? The Hulk trying to pull you out of the chains?"

"Stop—" Steve's breath shudders as he pales. "Don't."

"It was real. It happened, we rescued you."

"Stop!" The sharpness of Steve's cry brings them to a halt. "Beck. Please. Stop."

Natasha walks forward, finally finding her voice again and she sits on the edge of Steve's bed. She reaches forward cupping Steve's healing bruised and cut face in her right hand. "Steve, please believe us, you're not their prisoner anymore."

His eyes narrow and he rips his face away from her touch. His voice cracks as he closes his eyes trying to block them out. "Beck, please don't do this. I'll take the memories. Anything. Don't torture me like this."

"Steve—"

"Get out!" He bellows, "Leave. Me. Alone!"

The bitter venom in his voice takes them all by surprise and they're left trying to decide whether to follow his wishes or stay by his side so he's not alone. They hesitate too long and his eyes bore into them with a dead expression that chills each of them to the bone, "see?" He hisses. "If you were them you would have listened." He points at each of them, an accusation of their false presence. "Not. Real."

—

Steve continues to ignore them. Not that they can think of anything to say. Eventually they watch as Steve falls back into unconsciousness. They all slowly exit, glancing over their shoulders at him as they find themselves in the hallway.

"Where's Barnes, Friday?" Tony asks.

"Sergeant Barnes is currently in the gym."

"Let's go."

—-

They all enter the gym, on guard, not sure what they're going to find. At first they don't see him, but Clint's eyes are drawn up to the upper level, where Bucky sits crouched up in the metal rafters, his eyes blank and mouth set in a line.

"Barnes?"

No response.

"Bucky?"

Nothing.

They all file up the stairs and stand under him. Tony recognizes the dead look on his face. He saw it in Germany when Zemo had gotten to Barnes and used the trigger words.

"Soldat?" Natasha tries.

His voice is a rasp, but it's Bucky's not the Winter Soldier's, "no. Just me."

Clint breathes out a sigh of relief and reaches up, swinging himself up and through the rafters faster than Tony can watch until he's next to Bucky. "Talk to us."

"What's there to say? I let my best friend get captured and tortured and now he doesn't remember what's real and he wishes he was dead."

"So did Steve." It's a low blow, but Natasha knows she can't pull any punches right now. "He let you get captured, you were his second in command and he let you fall, didn't go after your body, and you were tortured and your memories erased, don't tell me you didn't wish you were dead sometimes. I know you did."

Barnes looks at her and a dehumanized snarl rips from his throat. Clint's eyes widen, Bruce takes a step back, and Tony flinches, but Natasha stands still, not moving or backing down.

"If you're taking the blame for how Steve is right now, then he must take the blame for how you were treated for 60 years."

Bucky hunches further, his head sinking in between his knees. "That's not fair."

"Stop moping then." She states.

"We need a plan." Tony says, interrupting. "Cap… Well, we all know why he thinks what he thinks. And now we have confirmation that Beck did things to Steve's mind that he didn't feel necessary to show us." He bites down on his tongue, running a hand through his hair. "So, what is our best plan to convince him that we're real?"

"Maybe only time will do the trick." Bruce says softly.

No one likes that answer, but no one has a better idea at the moment, and they all just stay there quietly until Friday interrupts.

"Boss?"

"Yeah, Friday?"

"Captain Rogers is waking up."

They run.

—-

He's awake and looking a bit more confused when they arrive.

"I'm surprised." He says, eyeing them warily.

"Surprised about what?" Tony asks nonchalantly, stepping forward.

"That he's letting this continue for so long. I wonder what his endgame is."

"Beck doesn't have an endgame. He's dead." Natasha tries again.

Steve just nods good naturedly, as if he's playing along with their little joke.

Natasha gets on the bed, she crawls up and sits next to him. Lifting his arm so it's around her and she scoots as close as she can. He raises his eyebrows but doesn't move this time. She looks pointedly at Bucky and he hesitates.

"Barnes." She orders.

He stalks forward and sighs. "Scoot over." He says to Steve whose eyebrows disappear into his hairline. "Like when you were little."

Steve scoots over, pushing Natasha to the edge of the bed and making room on his other side. Bucky gently raises himself and sits on the bed, scooting back until he's shoulder to shoulder with Steve.

Natasha rests her head on Steve's shoulder and he rests his cheek on top of her hair. Steve sighs and closes his eyes. "I guess I should enjoy it while it lasts."

Bucky stiffens at Steve's words. "Steve—"

"No, Barnes." Natasha says. "Don't fight him. He has to figure it out on his own."

She feels Steve shift in surprise at her words but he doesn't say anything.

"Steve, we don't care how long it takes, we're going to stay with you until you believe us. You're safe."

Steve winces, scratching at the back of his neck.

"Uh-huh. Sure Natasha." He then scoots down, pulling both her and Bucky closer as he closes his eyes and rests his chin on Bucky's head. "I'll take what I can get."

—-

Steve wakes to the smell of food. He opens his eyes to see a huge plate in front of him, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes drowning in gravy, bread rolls, and some sort of meatloaf all piled high.

His mouth waters and he swallows thickly. He lifts his hand and grazes the top of the bread roll with his finger, it's warm and buttery. His stomach makes itself known, rolling and acidic, the food smelling good but his stomach turning at the sight of it. He tries to think back to the last food he ate. Someone gave him something, a protein bar of some sort. He can't remember how long ago. His memories of the last few months feel like he's walking through fog, just catching glimpses of things off in the distance.

"Please eat." A voice has his attention raising and he sees what looks like Tony sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on the end of Steve's bed. "Please, Steve. Eat."

"What's in it?" Steve croaks, his voice deep and gravely from just waking up.

"If it's a memory or a hallucination from Beck does it matter?"

Steve ponders this. It's a good point. He reaches and grabs the fork that is set alongside the plate. He eyes the knife on the other side, and when Tony glances back down at his tablet, he slides the knife off the table and under the blanket.

He pokes at the green bean casserole. It was one of his favorites growing up. It was cheap and easy to make and it was filling. He and his ma always made it for his birthday dinners. He feels a bit heartsick that Beck must know this, and is waving the fact in front of his nose, but he doesn't have many options besides going along with whatever Beck wants. His hand moves of its own accord, bringing a mouthful up and he chews thoughtfully, enjoying the savoryness of the mushroom soup and the soft bite to the green beans.

He devours the plate in a few minutes and Tony disappears for a second before returning with a second and then a third.

When Steve finally feels satiated, he feels drowsy. "Dr'gged?" He asks wryly.

"No, Steve." Tony grouses, "You just ate your body weight in thanksgiving food, sleepiness is a common reaction to that much. No one is putting anything in your food that shouldn't be there, you're safe."

Steve lets out a whimper and grabs at the back of his head.

"You okay, Cap?" Worry coloring Tony's tone.

Steve doesn't respond, just looks a bit blankly past him, until he drifts off to sleep.

—

"Ross?" Bruce asks.

"Yep." Tony sighs, slamming the phone down on his lab table.

"He pissed?"

"Oh yeah. Bout tore my head off."

"What'd you tell him?"

"That we had a particularly grueling session of therapy and we all needed time to recover."

"He bought that?"

"Don't know. I hung up right after."

"Don't be surprised if he comes knocking."

"Keeping the doors locked."

"That won't keep him out forever."

Tony grits his teeth. "We don't need forever, just long enough to—" He cuts off and Bruce just nods, understanding.

—-

Steve next finds Bruce sitting at the side of his bed, a book in his hand, but his eyes pinned on the bruising that is almost completely faded from Steve's wrists.

"I did that." Bruce says without looking up, sensing the fact that he is awake. "If you were with Beck, why would I admit to hurting you?"

"All Beck has done is play mind games since he first captured us and held us in Detroit."

"That's true," Bruce admits, "But what would Beck gain from making you think you're safe and sound."

Steve flinches away from him and his voice is brittle when he responds. "What's worse: never being rescued? Or thinking you've been rescued and then finding out it was a trick?"

Bruce's mouth parts slightly, surprise and absolute disgust at the fact that he understands Steve's logic. Better to believe it's a trick from the beginning, then find out later and be crushed.

"It's not a trick." He says sharply.

"Whatever you say, Bruce." Steve responds with no conviction.

—

Natasha is sitting at the foot of his bed, a sketch pad and pencil in her hands. She glances up, notices his eyes on her, and she nods in acknowledgment.

"Whatcha drawing?" Steve asks. She studies her picture and then faces it towards him. It's a stick figure laying on a hospital bed, surrounded by 5 other stick figures, one of which has long red hair drawn by a crayon.

"Very avant-garde." Steve critiques.

"I thought so." She says, as she flips the page and then places the sketch pad in his lap, a few drawing pencils on top.

He looks at them blankly. "What do you want me to do with these?" Her face twitches, ever so slightly, before it's back hidden behind a mask of calm.

"Whatever you want to do with it, Steve."

He pushes the pad of paper off his lap, and onto the floor, the pencils clattering on the linoleum. He waits for her reaction, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Whatever you want, Steve. You don't want to draw? That's fine. Don't draw." She stands up and collects the supplies. "I'm not Beck. I'm not going to punish you for not following directions."

"So, what are you going to do?" He asks, his voice a bit mocking.

She sighs and smiles at him, trying to exude calm, "whatever it takes to make you believe you're safe."

His nose scrunches and his eyes snap shut.

"Steve?"

He doesn't respond, just lays his head back and pants heavily.

"Steve? What's wrong?" She's at his side, placing her hand on his forearm.

"Knew it was too good to be true."

"What? What is?"

He snatches his hand out from under hers, looking at her as if she's betrayed him, he screws his eyes shut and calls out the ceiling. "When will this particular torture end, Beck!" His voice is angry and tired and she pulls her hand back at his tone.

"Steve, Beck is—"

"Please leave."

"Steve—"

"If you're really my friend, you'll do as I ask. Leave."

Her mouth clamps shut and she grits her teeth together. If Beck wasn't already dead she'd kill him, slowly. She nods curtly and exits, leaving the door open as she disappears down the hall.

—-

He's not sure how long Beck has had him in this vision or dream or whatever the hell it is. He hates how good the food tastes, and how well he sleeps, and how real everything feels. It will be just that much worse when he is pulled out of it.

He wakes to Clint sitting at the window, playing a game on his phone.

"Hey, Cap."

"Hey."

"You believe us yet?"

"Nope."

"Okay." Is all Clint says before returning to his game.

—-

Bucky is having the hardest time. And maybe it's because he knows how torturous it feels to not trust his own mind.

Steve's femur cast is removed and Steve watches the whole thing with an air of confusion and suspicion, as if waiting for the saw to suddenly chop off his leg.

When it doesn't, he pokes at his thigh and stretches his toes. "Feels normal." His tone a bit in disbelief. The medbay room seems small with all six of them in it, but no one moves to leave.

"It is normal, Cap." Tony says, "But we should take you in for a scan now that you're able to walk on your own."

Steve adjusts his legs and then looks at Tony in the eye. "You mean you haven't had FRIDAY scan me yet?"

"No, Sir." Comes the voice from the ceiling. "After your last event, I was instructed by Mr. Stark to not perform any intrusive scans without your permission."

Steve'e eyebrow raises in surprise but he just shrugs. "Scan away."

"You'll need to go to the MRI." Tony huffs, "I disengaged Friday's medical protocols in here. She'll do a full body scan, while the MRI will focus on the brain."

Bucky is surprised and grateful for how far Tony was willing to go to make sure Steve felt safe. No more machines used on Steve without his say so.

Steve nods and gently moves his legs until they fall over the edge of the bed. He moves to his feet and lets the weight settle on them. He winces and wobbles for a moment before straightening up. The shirt and soft sweatpants hanging loosely show how much he has slimmed down. Bucky calculates that he's only been out of the water for about 4 days and he was 'dead' for about the first two. He doesn't know when Steve ate before then and his body is showing the weeks of malnourishment.

Well, they'll fix that.

He steps next to Steve, putting his arm under his shoulders and helping him walk to the MRI.

He lies down without complaint and Tony goes over the whole procedure.

"I know what an MRI is." Steve says dryly.

"I know, I know." Tony huffs, flipping the on switch and stepping back. He steps into the booth and his voice is projected into the machine as it begins to click and whir. "If anything happens just call out, okay Steve? I want you to feel in control, I just want you to feel safe."

Steve gasps, eyes screwing shut and his hands clenching at the base of his skull.

"Boss?" Friday interrupts, "There's something—"

Steve shouts, cutting her off and Tony's on his feet instantly. The intense reaction causes chaos from the rest of them in the observation room.

"Steve?"

"What's wrong?"

"What did you do?"

"What did the machine do?"

Steve's on his feet, eyes wild, brandishing a butter knife that he's pulled from somewhere. Tony freezes, his arms up in surrender. The others barrel into the room and stop when they take the sight in. Steve is standing there, barefooted and frantic. Pupils dilated and blood dripping down the side of his neck and onto his shoulder from a place they can't see.

The room goes still.

"Steve?" Bucky calls desperately, "What's happened?"

Natasha is eyeing the knife. A butter knife in anyone's hands is not an issue. But a butter knife in Steve's hands is as good as a bomb. "Steve." She orders, "put down the knife."

His eyes snap to hers and the snarl he makes is unnatural coming from his mouth. "Liars." He accuses. His eyes are wild, but they betray a sense of hopelessness, as if, even through all his denial, maybe just a tiny bit of him hoped it had been real, only to find out the truth.

"You feed me and let me sleep, shocking me when you feel like it, and then you shove me in this machine and—" he grimaces, groaning, clutching the back of his head. "I don't know what Beck wants out of this. But I'm not going to take it lying down." He steps forward, eyes threatening and hand steady as he holds out the knife. "Move out of my way."

"I can't do that." Bucky says, stepping in front of the door. Natasha and the rest do the same.

"Then I'll make you move." He barely finishes speaking before he darts forward, slamming his elbow into Bucky's chest and sending him flying back. Bucky's body knocks Bruce down and they go sliding across the floor. Steve closes the gap between him and Tony and fakes a punch, but crouches instead, using his legs to knock at the back of Tony's knees, causing him to topple backwards. He's up and moves right, approaching Natasha who feigns left and jabs right. Steve lets the blow hit, not budging but grabs her wrist quicker than he can pull it back. He tosses her with ease, her back slamming into the MRI machine and she crumples to the ground. Clint eyes him and he throws something at Steve, a dart. Steve swats it out of the air, and rushes, barreling forward and throwing his shoulder into Clint's gut. They go crashing through the door and into the hallway. Clint feels all the air leave his body as the super soldier slams him onto the ground. Bucky is up on his feet and approaches Steve who flips the knife in his hand, throwing it with considerable force at Bucky. Bucky only has a split second to catch the knife before it embeds itself in his upper arm. He barely grabs it in time, looking up in shock to find Steve gone.

—-

"Boss, he's running out of the compound."

They're bolting, down the stairs, out the doors when Clint huffs.

"Friday, how is he even running? His femur just barely healed!"

"I don't believe he's acknowledging the pain, sir."

The growl that comes out of Bucky's throat has them racing faster.

—

Steve climbs over the fence. He can't explain his thought process. His brain is muddled and the shocks are coming on stronger each time. His brain feels like it's being poked with a cattle prod. But he knows he needs to run. Get away, far away.

He's running through trees and barely avoiding tripping on fallen logs and branches. His leg aches but he doesn't stop. Can't stop.

He makes it to an asphalt road when he skids to a halt. He pants heavily, his body has been so stagnant for months it feels like, and he feels weary. A car whizzes by him, honking and he reels back, off of the road. He starts running, his eyes barely registering where he's headed. Just away.

—

"He can't have got far." Tony huffs, "I'll take my suit, you guys take the jet and we'll search the surround—"

"Boss."

"Not now, Friday."

"Boss." Friday repeats, sounding agitated.

"What!"

"Before Captain Rogers exited the machine, I was attempting to inform you about metal implant in the MRI machine."

"What metal implant?" Tony asks, readying the jet.

"The tracking device."

Tony's blood runs cold.

"What tracking device?"

"The Stark Industries tracking device placed in Captain Rogers' neck."

The jet falls silent.

"The what?" Clint asks hoarsely.

Friday doesn't respond right away. Which is incredibly unusual.

"You put a tracker in his neck?" Natasha asks, a dark look blooming on her face. Tony's mouth gapes open, but Bucky speaks first.

"No, he didn't." His voice is filled with fury.

"I didn't." Tony swears. Looking at them with pure sincerity, "I would never."

"You think Beck? Or Zemo?"

"Had to have been."

"How did they get a hold of a SI tracker?" Clint asks.

"How did they get ahold of Steve?" Bruce shoots back darkly.

No one has a response.

"Boss, there's one more aspect I feel I need to mention."

"What?"

"There were modifications." She states curtly, "I did not have time to analyze before he left the machine, but I did recognize that it was not a typical SI device."

"So the MRI was ripping a tracking device out of Steve's brain?" Clint seethes. "At least now we know why he was bleeding."

"Is the device still functional?" Tony rasps.

"Yes, Boss."

"Track him. Now."

"Yes, Boss."

—-

*A/N - If you're looking for the comfort/domestic and protectiveness part of the story, I promise it's coming, :z