Sy

Sy sat with Steve.

They hadn't let her see him while he was in surgery, and they hadn't let her see him when he first got out of surgery.

It terrified her that he was so hurt that his usual immunity to anesthetics and painkillers hadn't been an issue while the SHIELD doctors were working to keep Steve alive.

Sam and Rhodey had teamed up with Fury, and she'd showered and changed before she returned to anxiously pacing around outside the helicarrier's equivalent of the ICU. When the doctor, some SHIELD guy whose name she hadn't bothered to commit to memory, finally allowed her to go inside, Sy was already halfway through the door.

That had been three days ago.

Her violin sat propped up in the corner of the hospital room. She absently picked at the bandaid wrapped around her left ring finger with her thumb while watching Steve's chest rise and fall. She'd ripped open the skin under her nail just when James and Rhodey had walked into the room. They'd made her stop playing.

Now she wasn't sure what to do with herself.

So she just watched Steve breath. The shallow, but steady, rise and fall of his chest. Listened to the soft rattle of his breath in his chest. To the gentle hiss of the oxygen cannula against his nose. Sy picked out the sound of his heartbeat under the beeping of the machines, the roar of the helicarrier's engines, the thunder of thousands of SHIELD employees and refugees and dozens of other distractions.

She matched her own breathing to Steve's. Slow and steady. In and out.

Her only consolation is that he's still breathing. He's still alive. Steve just needs time to wake up.

A shifting sound in the doorway has her looking up. Tony was standing awkwardly in the doorframe, dark eyes on Steve's unconscious form. Discomfort radiated from his every pore. Tony Stark is many things; a genius, a hero, and sometimes even a good man, but emotional vulnerability is not his forte. Everything about this room in the medbay reeked of the very vulnerability Tony avoided like the plague. She bet it was his turn to try talking to her. Almost everyone else had tried, even Pietro had tried, his sister carefully wheeling him into the room.

Instead he was caught up in the sight of the still unconscious form of Steve.

Sy turned to look back at Steve, slipping her hand back into his palm, holding his hand tightly. She doesn't care about whatever is going between them anymore. They need to get over it, but she has no intention of getting involved.

"Ho- how's he doing?" Sy shrugged. He wasn't awake yet. And it's been three days. It was a dumb question from the start.

"The doctors said he's stable." Tony's shoes clicked across the floor, and the billionaire sat down in the other chair. He looked over Steve, his eyes lingering on the dozen different machines still hooked up to Steve.

"He'll wake up Sy. Cap, he's a fighter." Sy's grip on Steve's hand tightened. He's wrong. Steve Rogers is the fighter. Captain America is just the weapon.

Sometimes, Steve, hell the whole world, tended to forget to separate the man from the legend. Something Tony Stark had never been able to do, not once since the two men met on the helicarrier three years ago.

And no matter what kind of friendship the two of them had started to hammer out in those early months, Tony was never able to look past the Captain America that had stolen his father's attention to than the man Steve Rogers actually is.

"No." The sound of her voice surprised her. Surprised Tony too judging by the startled expression on his face.

"What?" Sy shook her head, leaning closer to the bed, not looking at Tony. She smoothed at a wrinkle in the blanket that was loosely tucked around Steve's legs.

"Steve is the fighter. Not the shield he carries." She insists quietly, tugging insistently at the blanket, trying to smoothing it perfectly.

It wouldn't lie flat. She wanted it to lie flat. Why wouldn't it lie flat? She fiddled with it more, tugging and smoothing and tucking at the edges of the blanket. Tears blurred her vision as she fought with the blanket. Tony reached across the bed, his warm hand closing over top of her own, preventing her from fidgeting with the blanket.

"I know kid. I know."

Steve

"You're lucky." Steve blinked his eyes open to bright sunlight. There was a large calendar and a clock pointed directly at him. In a bright red marker, the date had been circled. The two previous days were circled then crossed out in the same bright red color. He turned his head to look at Sy, dark bags under her eyes, even as she clutched his hand so tightly he knew that anyone who wasn't enhanced would be nursing a couple broken bones.

"Lucky?" He croaked, his throat dry. Sy held a glass up to his mouth, and he sipped water slowly through a straw.

"Lucky." She repeated. Even though her expression was hard, her eyes were shining suspiciously. "Your healing factor finally kicked in, and the doctors were able to fully stabilize you yesterday. They kept you asleep to make sure you didn't do anything else stupid to re-aggravate your injuries. So yes Steve, you're one lucky sonofabitch, because I have connections. I would have gone down to the afterlife and kicked your ass for dying on me like that." Her voice shook at the end, and he heard her breathing catch in her throat. Steve gently retook her hands. He pulled lightly, tugging her into whatever version of a hug can be accomplished while he was laying down. Her shoulders shook, and Sy pressed her face into his shoulder. His hospital gown grew damp as she cried, her whole body shaking with her sobs. He hugged her tighter, his own breath hitching in his chest.

He stroked one hand down her hair, along her shoulder, and down to the soft feathers of her exposed wings. There was a large bandage holding a split along the top of her right wing. He remembered the roar of gunfire, or seeing her wings flashing a in the light as she crouched for cover. The armor on her wings were by necessity thin and light, and not very thick; only designed to keep her from getting hurt while flying in a fight. Not for a firestorm of bullets from a massive automatic machine gun mounted to one of the most technologically advanced planes ever built.

He didn't even have to think, throwing himself over her, pulling his own shield over them both. Ultron had been on them both in the next second. But when it was two of them, in such an exposed area, ricochet was a danger. He could remember curling over her, crushing her wings to her body and covering her head. He remembered sparks of bright hot pain as chips of rock and other debris exploded around them and dug into the side of his arms and legs, tearing into his finger tips and against his exposed cheeks. Even though his reenforced suit protected him from the shrapnel from cutting into his body, it still hurt to get hit. He remembered a blaze of white hot pain on the back of his neck, then nothing. Black.

Clearly he'd been hit by something. Something that had hurt him enough to put him completely out of commission. He doesn't remember coming back into consciousness at all.

And for the first time since waking up from the ice, that didn't bother him. It was worth it, because Sy is safe. Safe and whole and alive and mostly unhurt.

Somewhere along the way, Sy became important to him. Important in a way that not even the team, or even Bucky is.

He would put his life on the life for anyone; from Buc-James, to Tony, to a civilian caught in the crossfire. He'd lay his life down for innocent people not in the crossfire. That's what Captain America is.

That's who Steve Rogers is.

But for the first time, Steve Rogers is finding that he was willing to live for someone. For Sy. Live so he could go to her concerts and attend show openings. Live to go to music festivals with her or to a milkshake in Brooklyn or a pizza in the tower. To fight and sacrifice and come back with a scorched shield used to defend her, to defend her life.

"It's ok Sy." He whispered to her, stroking her hair gently. She lifted her head up, narrowed eyes red from tears.

"You're supposed to be more careful Steve!" She accused, voiced tight and strained. She pokes him in the chest. Hard. He chuckled, mockingly rubbing at the spot her finger and jabbed. He doesn't even care if she's mad at him.

They won, and she's alive.

"I'm done." He looks up at her in surprise. She was sniffling, and gently wiping at her face. She didn't look back at him, instead keeping her eyes fixed on her hands, picking at the corner of a bandaid that was wrapped around one of her fingers.

"After everything with HYDRA… what they did to me… After Ultron and Vision and the Maximoffs and who knows what else that was created because of me… I can't do this anymore. I'm not a soldier, not really. I was taught to never harm mortals unless I absolutely had too; being a demigod makes it unfair. Unjust. I can't fight humans anymore. The Avengers, or SHIELD too I guess, can call if there's something related to the gods, or to demigods or if the world is about to end and you have no other options. But otherwise… I'm done." Steve reached out and took her hand, and ducked his head to catch her gaze.

"Ok." Tears were gathering in her eyes.

"It's costing me Steve. I can't let this be all I am. This isn't my job. It can't be." She whispered, trying to explain. He nodded, pulling her back into another hug. Something tight inside of his chest was relaxing at the though of her stepping back, away from the line of fire.

"I know Sy. You're done now. You can go home."

AN:

It's been a hot minute since I've updated this story! I'm so sorry it took me so long to upload it, but this chapter gave me so much trouble. I went in so many different directions and changed and rewote it so many different times.

I hope you guys like it, there's one more chapter left before AoU is finished.

Cheers,

Hartley

PS: I promised that bonus scene of Tony and Steve chatting on the Barton's farm; so here you go.

BONUS: Steve's PoV

"Thor didn't say where he was going for answers?" Tony asked, slamming his axe through the wood. Steve glanced up to see him toss the pieces to the side onto the growing stack.

"Sometimes my teammates don't tell me things. I was kinda hoping Thor would be the exception." He said bitterly, glancing at the billionaire, wondering if the dumbest genius he'd ever met (besides his father) would get the hint. He didn't.

"Sucks when that happens, doesn't it?" Tony snapped back. Steve stiffened.

"Stark, we've been over this. Buck, James, he's innocent in the deaths of your parents. He's done a lot of things, but their deaths are not his fault."

"I deserved to know." Stark snarled.

"I didn't know!" Steve snapped back harshly.

"What?" Steve wished he could take the words back. They hung in the air between them, suspended against the wall that was always between them.

Whatever he says next will either start breaking it down, or build it up so high they'll never be allies, let alone friends again.

Tony was doing a good impression of a fish out of water. Steve blew his breath out through his nose, turning away from Tony, looking down at the axe in his hands and the wood near his feet.

"I didn't know." His voice is soft enough that he isn't even sure Stark can hear him. "I suspected that their deaths were fishy. Zola showed me a flash of a newspaper clip about their deaths while Nat and I were at Camp Lehigh. But I didn't know. That's not an excuse, but-"

"I'm never going to be ok with him. With Barnes."

Steve held his breath for a moment, waiting to see if Tony has anything else to say. When the silence continued to stretch out he finally responded. Whatever conclusion Stark came too, something between them changed.

"Ok." Tony didn't glance up as he switched back to their previous topic, practically giving Steve whiplash.

"Give Thor some time. We don't know what the Maximoff kid showed him." Tony shrugged nonchalantly, but his focus on the swing of his axe was too intense for the gesture to be as relaxed as the billionaire intended it to be. The crack of wood splitting and the rhythmic thud of the axe falling was almost soothing.

Steve flashed back to the vision he saw. How lost he felt. How lost he feels. He shook it off as best he could. He leads the Avengers, and he can't do that if he's emotionally compromised. Can't lead them if he's weak.

"Earth's mightiest heroes. They pulled us apart like cotton candy." He reminded Tony. The billionaire looked up, his expression sour.

"Seems like you walked away alright." Came the expected scathing remark. Steve opened his mouth to deflect, when Sy's voice echoed in his head. They'd talked about teams. About their team. What it means. What it takes to be one.

"The war was over." He said quietly, swinging his own axe. Tony glanced up, shock clear on his expression. Steve stopped talking, unsure how to proceed.

The silence between them stretched out and like a dam burst, he couldn't stop the sudden flood of words from tumbling out of his mouth. '

"I was in a dance hall, wearing my old dress uniform. Cameras flashing, loud music, laughing couples. Peggy was there, said that we won. We could go home. The Howlies, Buck, a few others were there too, grinning and laughing.' He paused for a moment, taking a breath.

"But, under that, around it... I could still hear the explosions, and when I looked around the soldiers and couples were bleeding and dying even while they danced and laughed and partied. The war was over, but I hadn't gone home. Not really." He froze for a second as he remembered the rest of his vision.

"Rogers. Uh, Steve-" Tony tried to break in, but he just plowed over him.

"Then it was empty, and there was Sy. And Buck. And... and a... a few others. And they were waiting for me, telling me to come home; but then HYDRA... out of nowhere-" Steve choked, shaking his head and he slammed his axe through the wood harder than necessary.

"Somewhere between the ice and now, I think Steve Rogers got a little lost. All that's left is Captain America." His voice was so soft, he could barely even hear himself.

Tony snorted.

"Cap, we follow Steve Rogers. Not Captain America. Why do you think we still listen to you out of the suit?" Steve's hands trembled violently. His axe dug deeply into the stump, the log of wood unbroken beside the blade. With a grunt he ripped it out of the wood, and refocused on his task.

The second swing he didn't miss. The crack of wood didn't cover up the rest of Tony's words.

"You're worth more than the suit Steve. For all his faults, my old man always saw that. Hell, I see it, and I barely even like you." Steve warmed at Tony's reluctant support, taking the jibe with grace. Steve shook his head.

"Still got a problem with how I handled it?" He asked with a forced lightness, each of them grabbing more wood to split. Tony shrugged.

"I don't trust a guy without a dark side. Lucky for you, I've seen your temper." Steve resisted the urge to rub his temples. Because as much as he hated it, the billionaire wasn't wrong. Steve had come close to landing a killing blow on him last winter. The only reason he'd stopped was because Sy threw herself so far over her own boundaries she couldn't find her way back to them in order to pull them apart.

Afterwards, after the guilt and remorse and everything, he knew he hadn't intended to kill Tony. He just wanted to stop both of his friends from killing the other. James would have killed Tony in self defense. He wasn't stable enough to do anything else.

And Tony... Tony was truly trying to murder James. And Tony would have gone through Steve to get to him. Tony would have killed Steve to get to Bucky.

Realizing that, Steve's anger had washed over him, all logic fleeing until there was nothing but the white hot fury cording through his veins at the both of them. Tony just happened to be the bigger threat at that moment, leaving him the near victim of the incident. After all, without his suit, Tony is just human. A brilliant human, but very very very breakable. And Steve is very good at breaking things.

"Ma always said God looked after drunks and good little Irish boys. Haven't been so good on either of those fronts lately." Steve joked lightly, covering his darker thoughts. He sobered for a moment.

"When I got the serum, Dr. Erskine warned me that the serum enhanced everything, physically and mentally. That bad men become evil, and good men can become great. I had a temper before the serum. Ma once told me that I had enough anger in me for a half dozen of me. Before I was enhanced. After? I might have gotten the tools to build a better lid for it, but the rage? That was magnified too. Tony, for what happened before-" Tony just shook his head, glancing over at him as he cut off Steve's stumbling apology.

"You know Ultron is trying to tear us apart right?" Stark asked, steering the conversation away from dangerous (emotional) waters.

"It's working." Steve sighed, chopping another block of wood, tossing the pieces onto his stack.

"Banner and I were doing research. We never even imagined that this, that we could..." Tony trailed off, shaking his head.

"I get it, you know. What you wanted for Ultron to be, what his purpose was originally. I wouldn't have supported it, but I would have understood. I do understand. But you should have told us. Research that would affect the team, deserved to be discussed by the team." Steve offered quietly, trying to placetate the tension between them. Stark shook his head.

"There wasn't time for the debate, not before SHIELD took those fuel cells. If it had worked, if Ultron had succeeded as a more advanced Iron Legion, it would have ended the team. It would have protected the world in a way we can't, in a way we haven't. In a way we never will be able to." Tony paused his work, looking over at Steve.

"Tony, you can't do that; that's what Insight was; trying to stop threats before they became a threat. I tore down SHIELD and rebuilt it from the ashes over a program like what you wanted Ultron to become. Because that's not protection, or freedom, or ending the fight. That's fear and-" Tony interrupted him, dark anger flaring in his eyes.

"In another world, without Sy, we would never be friends Rogers. That kid is the only reason we can all stand to be in the same room as each other. Because when we all met, she was a teenager, and our fighting got her hurt. So we learned our lesson. But we're a team. Nothing more. Especially without her. And that was the point Rogers. To end the fight. So that kid that holds us all together, can stop fighting. So we can go home." Steve recoiled at the sentiment. His fingers curled into fists, and his temper surged. Wood splintered beneath his hands, cracking and splitting under the force of his rage.

Tony's eyes widened, both fear and remorse crossing his face. The mechanic had crossed a line, jabbing a wound that was just a little too close to the surface for Steve to just brush off with a sarcastic comment.

"You think -" He growled, flexing his hands tightly. He needed to move away from Tony, his emotions running too high, too raw after sharing, to deal with the idea of home. No matter what Tony had said about following the man in the suit, and not the suit itself, it didn't change the fact that the modern world had a place for Captain America. It didn't for Steve Rogers.

And that scared the shit out of him.

Rage curled through his limbs, sending minute trembled through his arms. Sy, even more than Bucky, even more than the Avengers, more than every good thing he's discovered about the future, tethers him here. He would kill anyone, do anything to keep her safe.

Even worse than poking at Steve's bear shaped issues, that fact that Tony could suggest... that he could even imply the very notion that Steve would do anything to hurt Sy, allow anything to continue beyond what she could take. All of them can see Sy crumbling under the weight of being an Avenger. If there was a way to end the team, to end the fight. He would take it. But not at the cost of what Insight, or what Tony's vision for Ultron would ask for. And Sy would agree with him.

He could have kissed Laura Barton for interrupting them just then. Stark cast one last glance towards him, made a stiff joke about stealing from his smaller pile and walked away. Steve just picked up his axe, determined to at least try and exhaust himself enough that he couldn't think anymore.