because their friendship is one I would have loved to see develop further in the films, and I firmly believe that all that time spent together on the run meant that losing her would have been hard for Sam.

Sam turns when he hears Barnes' yell, but it's too late. The armor piercing bullet is already heading straight for him, and he can't get the shield up in time to block it. He feels heat rip through his shoulder and then again through his upper chest as another bullet hits him. Distantly he's aware of another gunshot, but he doesn't feel anything else hit him. Maybe they missed? His gaze tips up as he stumbles backwards from the momentum of being hit and it's then that he sees Barnes putting down a rifle and running toward him. Oh. So that was the other gunshot.

"SAM!"

He loses his footing and hits the ground hard. The world begins to blur and spin as he moves his hand up clumsily and feels the wetness of his shoulder, knowing instinctively it's too much blood.

Suddenly Barnes is there, pushing harshly on the wounds and making demands. "Hang on, Sam. Already called in the cavalry, you just gotta do your part and hang on. You hear me? Hang on."

Sam grunts as the pain flares at the pressure and he weakly tries to protest, even as his eyes slip shut contrary to his efforts. He knows he should be trying to stay awake, but the adrenaline that coursed through him has already faded away and he's left grappling with pain that's sharp, insistent, and sapping every ounce of his remaining energy.

"Hey, c'mon now. Stay awake. No sleepin' on the job, Wilson."

Sam blinks blearily and the world unfocuses entirely. He's vaguely aware that Barnes is still talking to him, but he can't make sense of the sounds. He can feel himself slipping under, the darkness claiming him inch by inch at an alarming rate.

Sorry, Cap he thinks, because he's pretty sure he didn't live up to the mantle the way Steve was so sure he would.

And then everything goes black.

Sam's eyes flutter open and he finds himself in a room that's as neutral as they come, complete with muted paint colours some psychologists probably declared were soothing, and furniture that was more functional than fashionable but not overtly offensive. He frowns as his eyes continue to adjust to the brightness and his mind begins to try and piece together the fragments of memory that are starting to rise.

"Oh, is Sleeping Beauty finally awake?"

He turns his head sluggishly to find a blurry figure on the chair next to his bed. His eyes haven't fully adjusted yet so he can't make out any defining features. I know that voice… he thinks to himself. It's familiar, and soothing for some reason.

"C'mon, Wilson," the voice goads, interrupting his musing. "Get your ass up."

The world finally comes into focus enough for him to see the person in front of him and his mouth drops open as he lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Nat?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, it's the other Russian who puts up with you."

The smile spreads before he's even aware of it. "Hey, girl."

"Hey, birdbrain."

Suddenly memories of finding out she'd died to save them all drift to the surface and a deep frown creases his brow. He's pretty sure that happened...but he doesn't understand how she's sitting with her feet propped casually up on his bed, looking very much alive.

Wait.

Shit.

Did Idie?

"Is this real?" he asks, looking around at the non-descript room that isn't the rebuilt Compound or any hospital he's familiar with.

"How the hell am I supposed to know? I'm dead," she says with a shrug and a smirk that disappears as quickly as it appears.

Any hope for words has disappeared entirely, and instead he just swallows because a lump of anxiety and confusion has lodged itself there, and because he needs a damn minute to try and wrap his head around it all.

"Am I dead?" he asks finally, doing nothing to hide the worry in his tone and expression.

"Do I look like an all knowing being to you?" she replies, eyebrow arching in a display of silent judgment. Her response is so flippant, so carefree, so Nat , that it hurts.

"You always seemed to know everything," he counters.

Another shrug. "I only acted that way."

Sam scoffs as he shakes his head. "Pretty good act."

"Well, I was the best," she fires back with a wink.

He coughs, clearing his throat that feels rough - from emotion or disuse, he doesn't know. "Uh, what am I doing here?"

"I thought we already covered that I don't really know anything."

"Well what do you know?" he snips and immediately regrets it because she doesn't deserve it. But he can't help it because he doesn't understand and she isn't offering anything to help with that. She's dead, and has been for almost two years and yet she's here sitting next to him, relaxing like it's just any old day. Wait...if she travelled backwards in time...does that mean she's been dead longer than 2 years? he wonders idly.

She's quiet for a moment as she pulls her feet off his bed and sits up, leaning forward slightly. He can see the pain in her eyes now, the mirth and relaxation of just a moment ago having faded away entirely. Her expression is the most genuine and open he's ever seen. "I know that I miss you," she says softly.

His heart clenches because he's missed her too. It's been nearly two years, but still it hurts. He'd come back and was told the fate of the planet and maybe the universe hung in the balance of the battle they were about to fight. The battle had been all new levels of chaotic and insanity, and winning had cost them too damn much, but they'd won.

When it was all over, all he'd wanted to do was sleep for a week straight. Maybe a month. But then he'd realized there were still things to do and people to find, so he'd sought out Steve and asked where Nat was because it was incomprehensible to him that she wasn't right there next to her teammates. Steve, eyes and heart heavy with grief, told him she didn't make it. He pressed for some details, because if anyone would overcome the odds it would be Natasha Romanoff, and found out that she'd died to give the Avengers a chance to bring everybody back.

He had struggled to believe Steve that she was just gone. Gone to a place people don't come back from, not even with magic space stones. Gone because they'd needed the stone and it required a sacrifice. Gone because she had always seemed to care so very little for her own life but cared so much for everyone else's. Gone because she'd spent the entire time he'd known her trying desperately to be a good person and make amends for her past that she had released publicly for the greater good. Gone because she'd been a hero and had made the impossible choice. Gone because she had loved them. Gone because she'd believed in the Avengers, in her family.

His voice chokes in his throat and he feels tears pricking his eyes as her words settle heavily on his heart. "I miss you too, Nat," he whispers, because it's all he can force out. The words don't feel like enough. They don't describe the grief that had flooded through him when he finally came to terms with the fact that she was gone. And they don't do enough to describe the hole that her death had left in his and everyone else's world.

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up before looking at her again. And just like it had always been, she knows what he needs and opens up her arms to invite the hug. He wraps his arms around her and she's so startlingly solid and warm that his breath catches. It's not something they did regularly. He could count on one hand that was missing most of its fingers the number of times they had hugged. But holding her, he feels a sense of comfort wash over him. He feels her arms wrap around him tightly in response and he wonders how lonely she's been, separated from the only family she'd ever had.

"I miss you," she says again, the words whispered into his ear. If he hadn't known before, the repeated words confirm it to him - Natasha Romanoff, despite the cool and stoic exterior she so often portrayed, had loved them all deeply.

"I miss you too, girl. So much," he says softly, eyes slipping shut as he squeezes her tighter. Another moment passes quietly before they break apart and he shakes his head, because the doubt and fear is all consuming. "I don't know what the hell I'm doing half the time. I need your crazy Russian ass there to kick me into gear and explain everything to me."

She chuckles gently. "That's what you have Barnes for. He's not Russian by birth but I think he spent enough time there to qualify," she quips, but he hears the slight catch on her breath too.

"Nat," he says, voice quaking a little.

"You're doing fine, Sam," she soothes. "Steve picked you for a reason."

Of course she'd sussed out the reasons beneath his plea.

He shakes his head. "I… I don't-"

"You're doing fine," she repeats. "You're never gonna be the same Captain America that Steve Rogers was. And that's fine. That's good. Because the world doesn't need that. The world needs the Captain America that Sam Wilson is gonna be."

He clenches his jaw to hold in his emotions as he lets her words reassure him. Barnes had told him as much, and so had Steve, but somehow coming from her they hold a specific weight that lets them sink in.

"Sorry I didn't get to see you before I went," she says in a practiced casual tone. She says it like she's sorry to have just missed seeing him on a morning jog, or at the coffee shop. But he knows Nat well enough to read beneath it and hear the emotion in her words.

"I'm sorry you had to go," he manages, but he can feel his voice catching again and can feel the grief sneaking up on him like a tidal wave approaching the shore.

She opens her mouth to say something, and somehow he just knows what she's going to say. "Don't," he says, holding up his hand. "Don't say someone had to do it. I know it had to be done, but I can still hate that it was you."

She smiles softly. Softer than he can ever remember seeing her smile before. "You're a good man, Sam."

"You're a good person, Nat," he counters, choosing to ignore his use of the present tense, because he wants to pretend for just a little while longer that he's actually sitting with her. Hell...maybe he actually is. "And you're a hero, you know that right?"

Her smile widens a bit, and he swears he sees tears in the corners of her eyes. She tilts her chin up at him. "Only because I had good friends," she says meaningfully, holding his gaze. "Only because you all made me that way."

He smiles then, relieved that she accepts his words...even if she attributes so much of the credit to her family instead of herself. But his attention is drawn back to where they are. "I don't think I'm supposed to be here, Nat," he says quietly, somehow knowing in his bones that it's true.

She's quiet as she holds his gaze. Her eyes are so sad and he feels dread begin to wash over him. "You're here because you wanted to be," she answers softly. He's startled by her words and tilts his head as he considers them. "But you should go back, Sam. You're right. You don't belong here. Not yet."

"Not yet… You mean...is this…?"

She smiles, and it's one of her enigmatic ones. The kind where he knows he isn't going to get an answer out of her.

"Go be a hero, Sam. Your job's not done yet."

"...how do I…?"

She smiles again. "Just decide."

His frown deepens. "What? Nat- I don't- Please…"

She leans forward and kisses his cheek. "You're a good man, Sam. Don't ever let anyone tell you differently."

"Nat," he whispers, reaching out to stop her from walking away.

"It's okay, Sam. You're not done yet. We'll be here. Take your time, okay?"

His mouth opens and closes several times as words escape him entirely. But then she's fading away. Actually fading away, and he's reaching out to try and grab her but his hand finds nothing but empty space in front of him.

"Nat! No, Nat!"

And then she's gone and he's all alone. His gaze lingers on where she'd been standing before it tips down to where her feet had been resting on the bed. There's still an indentation in the blankets there and it's a cruel reminder of what he had lost…what they'd all lost.

He figures he's probably in that inbetween place, half way between life and death. He wonders, of all the people he'd lost over the years, why it was her who had appeared for him. Not any of his relatives, not Riley, not a few close friends he'd lost before meeting Nat and Steve. He's not upset by any means - seeing her had been a true gift. The shock of her just being gone upon his return had rattled him completely, and even with his wealth of knowledge and experience of the process from his counselling days, coming to terms with losing her had been hard.

But then, Nat had always had a way of cutting through the complicated shit and focusing everyone onto the important parts. She'd been a bit blunt and direct, yes, but never unkind unnecessarily. So maybe she'd been there to offer that to him once more. To cut through the bullshit and get straight to what mattered. Her words echo in his head.

'Go be a hero, Sam. Your job's not done yet.'

He sighs. Guess there's more for me to do.

"He's waking up. Hey, Steve, he's waking up."

Sam's eyes open drowsily to find Barnes next to him, and Steve sitting in a chair in the corner of the room.

"Hey, Sam," Steve says. His voice lacks the strength and fullness that it used to have before his trip back through time, but it's still unmistakably Steve .

"Hey," he croaks.

Barnes hops up, pours out some water into a plastic cup, and drops a straw into it before he holds it in front of Sam. Sam takes a quick sip and the water's effect is instantaneous - his mouth already feels better.

"How ya feeling?" Barnes asks.

Sam grimaces. "Like I got shot."

"Well, ya did. Twice."

"You know, I gave you the shield to block bullets," Steve quips with a little smile.

Sam's head turns slightly to shoot Steve an unimpressed look. "You know what, old man? That's enough out of you."

Steve laughs and Barnes relaxes enough to sit down.

"You alright?" Barnes asks.

"I will be," Sam answers confidently. Nat's words echo in his mind again… Your job's not done yet. "Not done with the hero gig just yet."

"Good. I wasn't looking forward to handling all that shit by myself."

Sam laughs and then regrets it immediately as pain shoots through his upper chest and shoulder.

"Sorry," Barnes says with a guilty expression.

Sam raises a hand and waves the concern off. "I'll be fine. Just maybe save the jokes for a bit."

"To be fair, that wasn't a joke."

"Barnes, compared to when we first met, that was practically a stand up comedy routine."

He chuckles. "Fair enough. I'm gonna go see if the nurse can get your doctor. They wanted to do a full exam when you woke up."

Sam nods. "Thanks, man."

Barnes dismisses it with a wave as he heads out into the hallway and Sam's gaze shifts to Steve. He's got a strange expression on his face that Sam can't quite work out.

"How are you feeling?" Steve asks as he gets up to shuffle over to the chair Barnes had vacated.

"Not great, but then I guess you aren't really supposed to feel great after getting shot."

"No, I suppose not," Steve says with a chuckle.

"How's Barnes been?"

"Well, he's reviewed all the reports about a dozen times… I think he's convinced that he missed something."

"He get the guy?"

"In a body bag. Buck's always been a good shot. I should know - I've been on the receiving end of a few of his shots."

"C'mon, man," Sam grumbles. "It's already bad enough I got shot, now you gotta one up me?"

Steve laughs. "Gotta make sure you don't forget who held that shield before you did," he teases.

"Oh, that's not about to happen, and you know it. Believe me, you don't need to rub it in."

"Okay, okay," Steve says as he holds his hands up in innocence, a small grin spreading across his face.

"You know, at least I had good music for you after you got shot."

"Troubleman, right?" Sam nods. "You were right, was definitely worth adding to the list."

"You ever finish that list?"

Steve shakes his head once and then smiles gently. "No, Nat kept adding things to it. I never did work out how she was swiping it and adding the stuff, since I had it on me almost all the time. The stuff she added was all over the place too, history, music, movies, events, foods, memes… She knew a bit of everything, you know?"

'Do I look like an all knowing being to you?'

Sam blinks as the memory of seeing Nat rushes over him suddenly. "After I passed out...I saw Nat," he says abruptly, overcome with the desire to tell someone.

Steve's expression shifts, and Sam reads a whole jumble of emotions on his face. Steve had struggled quite a bit with his grief and guilt after losing Nat and Tony. Sam had been struggling too, and so it had been Barnes, who hadn't known either of them well, who had picked up the slack in terms of providing support to Steve.

"I woke up in this bland and neutral room, but there she was with her feet propped up on my bed like she owned the place."

Steve smiles knowingly and nods. Nat had always walked into every room like she was supposed to be there. Both he and Steve had been scared half to death on a number of occasions by finding her lounging on a couch in their locked and alarmed apartments, relaxing as though it was her own place. Even when they'd been jumping from safehouse to safehouse, while she was always vigilant -admittedly more so than either of them had ever been- she had somehow also always conveyed an effortless casual vibe wherever they were.

"And I'm confused about where I am and how I got there, so I ask her," Sam continues, making small gestures with his hands to emphasize things. "And of course she shrugs it off and says how the hell should she know, because she's dead."

He watches Steve's mouth curl into a bittersweet smile. It's a casual reference to her death, yes, but it's also so her that Sam knows he understands.

"And then I can't help myself because I'm not convinced she's really there, you know? So I hug her...and she felt so real, man. Like...solid, and warm, and like she was right there with me."

Steve's expression is the same - bittersweet. Sam knows the feeling, and feels a bit guilty now that he's flaunting his experience with their friend right in front of him. It had been many more years for Steve since he'd spent so long in the past, but it's clear to see that the pain of losing her hadn't dimmed all that much.

"I asked her what I was doing there, and she explained that it wasn't my time. That I still had hero stuff to do. But that they'd be waiting there for me."

"Must have been nice to see her," Steve offers, not an ounce of bitterness in his tone. The words are genuine. He knows how much Sam had cared about her. All their time together on the run had forged a tight bond between them.

"It was," Sam agrees with a nod. "I hadn't realized… I never really dreamt about her after the battle. I know most people do when they lose someone, but I never did. It had been so long since I saw her."

"Did it help?"

He nods again. "I don't know if it was real though."

Steve is contemplative for a moment. "I've seen a lot of things in my life...aliens, magic stones, sentient robots, and people with amazing abilities. Who's to say this one was past the line of believable? And even if it wasn't real...if it was helpful, does it really matter?"

Sam considers his words. "I guess it doesn't."

Steve smiles encouragingly again before letting out a heavy sigh. "I really miss her."

"Yeah," Sam agrees, a sad smile spreading across his face, "me too."

thoughts? feedback? suggestions?
I'm all ears.

more to come...