We're back! I didn't really know if this fic was going to be updated again, it's one of those fics you think about and suffer about. But I was sort of inspired recently so, here we are. I think my writing style might have changed a bit since last I worked on this fic, but hopefully, it's not too noticeable. I don't know how regular updates will be, but I'll try to finish this story. Also, apologies to any American readers I pretty much bash your country a bit in this chapter. It's kind of the truth though. Thanks to everyone who commented, y'all were inspiring! Read on and enjoy.
Black Panther is the property of Marvel
X
The halls of his home were dark in the evening, lit only by the amber glow of the lights attached to the walls in small sconces, they looked like fireflies and T'Challa vaguely recalled a memory of naming them with his mother. He shook away the memory and with it the tense lines of his shoulders. Or rather he tried to. Everything felt tight in his chest and behind his eyes, part of him wanted to turn around, to go back into the throne room, to stare into his father's weathered eyes and demand… something, anything.
But most of him knew where N'Jadaka was and already on an instinctive level he understood how everything had changed. It was the stone from the top of a mountain bringing forth an avalanche and T'Challa could feel his world crumble with it, burying everything under a layer of stone that no one could see through.
He paused for a moment, a window gazed out upon the city, a beacon of shining lights and curves caught in the glow of everything. Outside the window life occurred as usual, the citizens of Wakanda remained unaware of the internal conflict among the royal family. It inspired a split-second desire to be there, among the people, without the responsibility of the country hanging over his head, over his every choice.
The door to N'Jadaka's room slid open with a quiet hiss that felt too loud in the hovering silence. N'Jadaka's room was a far different cry from the impersonal guest room of his first days in Wakanda, sprawling sunsets painted the walls, shelves lined themselves with weapons and knick-knacks Shuri thrust on him (or he had stolen), and a few posters of American bands were sloppily thrown over the walls.
N'Jadaka hovered over his bed, there was a duffle bag set out in front of him and he was still and silent, just the line of his spine haloed in the glow of the fairy lights over his bed bathing his figure in light. He turned a sharp motion that flashed with the silver of a knife before his gaze locked onto T'Challa and he slumped.
T'Challa entered the room and the door slid behind him with another hiss. They both knew what was happening. T'Challa couldn't protest, even though part of him desperately wanted to beg N'Jadaka to stay. Even for a day. But he couldn't, N'Jadaka couldn't. T'Chaka would increase border security, he would have someone watching N'Jadaka (more so than they were already guarded), he would never allow N'Jadaka to escape. And it would all be done by the next morning.
Tonight, was their only chance.
T'Chaka knew the same, but T'Challa prayed that the already late hour and the grace of his mother would allow for a window of opportunity. T'Challa peered into the duffle bag and wordlessly fished out a wad of American bills his father had allowed him to keep after seeing his fascination with the figures on it (Canadian money was far cooler). N'Jadaka's hand grasped his own, the warmth of his skin like a hearth as he looked at him from between his dreads and nodded.
"What are you going to do? In America."
T'Challa questioned as he shook his head and carefully refolded his brother's favourite pair of pants. N'Jadaka swatted at his arm and muttered unsavoury things about him under his breath before drifting into silence.
"Don't know, go to college, check out the tourist stuff, learn the history; the unedited version, try some cuisine."
N'Jadaka replied with a shrug and his tone was idle but there was more to his voice, something longing, a real true sort of longing that was deeper than the heart. T'Challa supposed it ran through his very veins.
He knew that what N'Jadaka would find in America would likely horrify him when compared to Wakandan society. Even compared to the other global superpowers there was something to America beneath the veneer of popularity that ran rotten. But it was N'Jadaka's choice, it was something he needed to see, to understand for himself.
"Alright, promise you'll write to me, or whatever it is people use these days, is it Twitter?"
T'Challa replied with a huff of laughter he didn't feel as he glanced superstitiously over his shoulder and watched N'Jadaka zip his bag shut and pat its side. N'Jadaka slung the bag over his shoulder and nodded his eyes were twin pools of dark water as he quirked his lips and replied, "Yeah, yeah. I'll write you, even use that fancy cursive shit."
"Please don't. Your cursive is horrible and an affront to writing everywhere."
T'Challa replied bumping his shoulder against N'Jadaka's with a grin as they made their way towards the door. He didn't comment on N'Jadaka's accent slipping in and the way he practically thrummed with energy.
On the threshold of the door, N'Jadaka paused and stared at his room, his gaze swept over everything, all of it coloured sepia in the yellow glow of the fairy lights at the back. He tipped his head and stepped back, the doors hissing open and allowing N'Jadaka to enter the hallway. T'Challa followed behind him in the sudden and oppressive silence hanging over them.
They moved quietly through the hallways in practised movements, experience from years of sneaking out of one place of another aiding the two princes. T'Challa paused and pulled N'Jadaka into a small alcove as a guard passed through the hallway, her keen eyes scouring the walls. Her eyes passed over their location and T'Challa held his breath, felt N'Jadaka's heartbeat pounding like a drum behind him.
The guard moved on.
They slid into one of the service elevators located beside a storage closet and a guest room for irritating diplomats. It was often used at night and the surveillance on it was surprisingly lax considering the security of the palace. They had never seen fit to mention it as it aided in many of their pranks or less permittable quests. T'Challa didn't feel guilty, there was a camera in the hallway that caught anyone leaving or entering; that is if they didn't know its blind spot.
The ride was quiet, there was no awkward elevator music, and they stood close together, shoulder to shoulder with the weight of what was to come a tidal force. Pulling them away and yet pushing them forward.
The hanger was mostly dark, a big hulking space filled with their aircraft and the occasional dismantled jet, the emergency lights were red and cast everything in harsh shadows, it was like something out of a movie. Trading a nervous smile that didn't hide how the hanger at night, abandoned, gave off chilling vibes, they stepped forward.
Then the lights flicked on with an echoing click.
They both tensed, N'Jadaka's hand reaching towards a knife, and T'Challa's fingers itched towards the bracelet Shuri had given him. Standing by one of the stealth craft, probably the one they would have chosen, stood Shuri. Her arms were crossed, and her chin jutted out defiantly as she called out, "Were you even going to say goodbye to me N'Jadaka?"
N'Jadaka coughed and bowed his head in shame before he weakly replied, "It's time sensitive Shuri. I would have like video-called you or something."
She huffed and stared at the two of them with narrowed eyes for a long moment, it was hard to recall she was only eight before she uncrossed her arms and beckoned the two of them closer with a fond but exasperated, "You're lucky I love you, idiots. I've already wiped the camera feeds so, you owe me."
N'Jadaka grinned and took one long step forward and swept Shuri into a hug, twirling her around with ease. Shuri laughed and giggled (though she would protest such) and swatted at N'Jadaka until he placed her on the ground once more.
"Alright we get it, spring bird happy to return home."
She said with a flap of her hand before she pulled out her tablet and N'Jadaka and T'Challa crowded closer to peer over her shoulder at the screen. She scowled and aimed a flick at T'Challa who merely leaned back and raised a brow.
"What do you got for me, sis?"
N'Jadaka questioned adjusting the strap of the duffle bag on his shoulder. Shuri shook her head, the bright colour in her hair that their mom hated, catching on the pale light of the skylights above.
"I've plotted your course, you choose the state and the plane will land you there. There're a few brochures for colleges in there and some open rent locations if you go where I think you're going to go. Also, Candy Crush, snacks, and the whole of the Star Wars trilogy."
"Sis, did I ever tell you how much I loved you? Cause you're like the best sibling."
N'Jadaka replied with a grin and Shuri grinned at T'Challa's muffled protest, practically preening at the title. Rolling his eyes T'Challa crossed his arms and stepped back allowing the two to say goodbye. N'Jadaka wrapped his arms around Shuri and squished her to his chest whispering words that were easily audible in the broad expanse of the hanger. T'Challa felt no shame in eavesdropping as he advised Shuri on how best to annoy him and keep him on his toes. Ah, siblings.
After a few minutes, and Shuri protesting about her ability to breathe or lack thereof, N'Jadaka pulled away and allowed Shuri to finish the last-minute programming. He turned to face T'Challa and for a moment there was silence as T'Challa drank in the sight of his brother, his dreads hanging over his forehead and over his ears, the determined slant of his nose, the sure grin, his eyes that were happy, really and truly happy, the kind you can't describe nor contain.
By all that Bast had created T'Challa was going to miss his brother, like missing a physical piece of oneself. It would be like walking on one leg without a crutch to catch himself. T'Challa knew it would hurt, that he would miss N'Jadaka's laughter, his pranks, his jokes, that mischief, the love of American bands that he blasted so loud it was audible two floors down, the reckless abandon he fought with.
It wasn't goodbye forever.
T'Challa reminded himself of that as he stepped forward and opened his arms, N'Jadaka slammed into him, forcing the breath out of his lungs. He laughed at the koala limbs of his brother and tightened his own grasp around N'Jadaka in return. He held N'Jadaka tighter when he buried his head in his neck and he could feel the damp tears on his shoulder, and on his own cheeks.
"Thank you T'Challa, you made Wakanda home. Without you, I wouldn't be who I was."
His arms tightened around N'Jadaka at the confession and he responded quietly, "You also shaped my life N'Jadaka."
N'Jadaka pulled back a moment later, wiping at the tears trailing down his cheeks he grinned, all cocky and sure, and replied, "Guess it's Erik now, considering I'm American and all."
T'Challa rolled his eyes but grinned nonetheless and replied, "Alright Erik, safe travels."
"We all good Shuri?"
N'Jadaka questioned as he nodded once, staring into T'Challa's eyes with a promise. He hoisted his duffel bag over his shoulder and stepped onto the ramp, staring at his siblings as the door behind him heaved open.
"All good to go. Don't worry about the forcefield you'll be fine. Probably."
"Shuri!"
T'Challa chided at the teasing tone that probably wasn't appropriate for the touching goodbye happening. N'Jadaka's laughter filled the hanger and they both turned to look at him, standing on the ramp above them grinning at the two of them he said, "Man I'll miss you two. Stay out of trouble kay?"
T'Challa raised one dubious brow as if to suggest that he would never involve himself in something so low as trouble. Shuri nodded the picture of innocence all wide eyes and hopeful tilt; it wasn't quite convincing. N'Jadaka waved and turned to enter the plane, the door sliding shut behind him a moment later as the lights flickered on casting everything in pale blue.
The hanger door opened and for a moment everything hovered on a precipice. Then the aircraft lifted into the air and exited through the hanger doors leaving the two of them alone in the pale glow of the lights above.
"He totally forgot to pack his socks, didn't he?"
Shuri questioned with a sniffle, T'Challa glanced at his sister and knew her expression mirrored his own. He tucked her into his side, running his hand lightly over her shoulder as the hanger doors began to slide close on the night sky above Wakanda he replied, "Without a doubt."
She laughed, the sound clear as she grabbed her tablet and he steered her away from the place their brother had once stood. With a sniffle, she questioned, "We're going to be in so much trouble tomorrow aren't we."
"Without a doubt. But that's okay, it's what he would've wanted."
Shuri shook her head, the bright pink of her hair blooming like flowers as she grinned up at him with watery eyes. T'Challa ruffled her hair and grinned down at his sister. It would be different without N'Jadaka there, but he was free. And in the end, that was what mattered most.
X
Everything was different after N'Jadaka left.
Their father was furious when he found out what had occurred in the morning. It was an anger that was terrible and all-consuming, T'Challa had seen it before in N'Jadaka, and yet in his father, it was truly terrifying. There was no evidence of their involvement, Shuri was far too advanced with technology for that, and yet it was obvious to anyone present that they had aided N'Jadaka in his escape; it was sad that was what it had become.
They stood together in front of their father in the middle of the council room, listened to him rant about the ungratefulness of children, of rebellion and respect, until his breath was hoarse, and the fury had subsided somewhat. He questioned them, it was extremely similar to the interrogation T'Challa had been asked to witness a year ago when they had captured a suspected terrorist.
They denied and confirmed nothing. Shuri's hand was threaded through his hand the whole time but they remained still in the face of their father's anger, their mother stood quietly behind their father, her expression was sad. It lasted for three hours and T'Challa felt light-headed and sick by the end of it, the sort of sickness that was a heaviness in your mind, a dryness to the throat, and sore eyes.
They were punished with multiple sessions of lessons on tradition, respect, and anything their father could think to assign to them, along with training practice early in the morning, the ban of technology, and they were grounded.
After everything, T'Challa held Shuri in his arms as she sobbed and felt resentment burrow itself deep into his stomach, it was an uneasy feeling, like stepping out into the cold of a river bottomed with clay in your bare feet. For the moment, T'Challa let it fester and wondered if that was how his brother had felt.
He understood their father's anger. T'Chaka had been trying to keep his family safe, to keep N'Jadaka safe, to keep Wakanda safe. But in the end, that desire to keep his country safe over the health of his nephew would have stifled N'Jadaka. It didn't matter what your good intentions were sometimes, not if they were hurting others, especially if they were hurting those close to you.
It sounded hypocritical considering how much N'Jadaka leaving hurt them. But it was a hurt T'Challa and Shuri could both accept. If it would make their brother happy then it was okay.
Ramonda entered T'Challa's room after, she stroked her hands through Shuri's bright hair and pressed a kiss to T'Challa's forehead and said, "I am proud of you, both of you. It takes courage to stand against one's family. And you two did it for the right reason. I may not agree with letting N'Jadaka go now, but I'm proud of all of you, nonetheless. And while your father is angry now, he just wants what is best for this family and for Wakanda and sometimes he is blinded by that. But he may come to understand why you both did it later. For now, don't get on his bad side."
The words warmed something in T'Challa's chest and flushed away the anger, sowed it into experience that he would recall when making decisions in the future that affected others. Shuri sniffled but nodded and let their mother tell them a story of their history like she hadn't since they were young, all gathered up on the bed staring at her with wide eyes and asking ceaseless questions.
They dealt with their punishments. The weeks passed by in a dull haze, like moving through fog, T'Challa passed from class to class to lesson to spar. It made the ache of N'Jadaka's absence that much starker. There was no one to turn to and write pointed notes about the redundancy of their laws and government. No one to make silly faces when the teacher's back was turned. He sparred against the guards and missed the feel of N'Jadaka against his back and the wind in their hair.
Inside he felt trapped, like a lion pacing its cage in the zoos they had heard about in America. It cycled onwards and T'Challa would stare out the window and wonder how his brother was faring in America. Part of him feared for N'Jadaka, feared of the violence in America and his brother's cockiness. The rest of him just hoped N'Jadaka was remembering to eat and that he had found a college course that wouldn't bore him.
Shuri received a call from him a week later, when they were both perched on a balcony under the watchful eyes of Okoye, one of the guards in training who let them get away with stuff because they bribed her with chocolate. Shuri was scrolling through her tablet with a feverish fervency that did little to diminish the idea that she was at least a little addicted to technology. It was okay though (mostly), she made all sorts of cool stuff because of it.
They both stared at the screen for a long moment as a bubbly call tone rang out before Shuri tapped it with numb fingers that couldn't hide the excitement dashing across her features like the morning of one's birthday. N'Jadaka appeared a moment later, the quality was grainy (something Shuri would surely fix in the future) but he looked well if a little bit like a veteran returned from war.
They talked for hours, of America and how it was different and yet similar, how N'Jadaka could feel the racism like a flag across his back, about the greasy food, the cultural differences, the college courses (he was taking classes on political science and modern history), and how much he missed Wakanda but liked the sunsets in America even if they couldn't compare.
In turn they talked of their punishments, earning laughter and not at all pitying looks, of the newest fashion trends that had emerged out of recycled household objects, about the diplomatic visit from the merchant tribe that was really an attempt to betroth one of their daughters to T'Challa, and of everything else and in between.
It was so easily similar to how everything had been before N'Jadaka had left and it hurt, ached somewhere behind his heart and in his fingers, they itched as if for a blade, but he stilled them, and they talked. N'Jadaka was happy and there was little more T'Challa could ask for other than perhaps less training.
Okoye was the one to tell them that it was dinner time and with mournful farewells that took probably far too long they said goodbye. And then it was just Shuri and T'Challa. The conversation lingered on T'Challa's mind for the rest of the evening and the days that followed, it was something to fill the dull silence of lessons on the different agricultural regions of Wakanda.
Their grounding was lifted eventually, and things didn't exactly return to normal (he doubted they ever would) everything was a bit stiff, conversations faded quickly, and sensitive topics were avoided. But they tried and through the magic of family dinners and Disney movies things were okay, not necessarily good, but okay.
Then T'Challa met Nakia.
He admitted he had a crush to N'Jadaka who teased him endlessly only to receive the same when he revealed he was interested in someone. It was different from how everything had been before, but N'Jadaka was happy, it was a tangible thing that while wearied by his experiences in America couldn't drown his utter happiness at being in the country of his birth. They talked, they joked, and they were brothers even if they were separated by a few hundred thousand miles.
X
Thank you all for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter it kind of came out of nowhere but it was fun to write. There will be a pretty big time skip between this chapter and the next. It will probably pick up right around Civil War. And no, this fic will not be covering Infinity War, as cool as it would be to see N'Jadaka fight Thanos I really don't want to touch Infinity War. Also, I know the ages are probably not correct, but we can just ignore that. Reviews/comments are always appreciated, till next time!
A penny for your thoughts: Imagine Erik watching This is America. That is all.