Hello everyone, we are back! This chapter picks up right around Civil War, which I haven't watched in forever so please just ignore any inconsistencies. There will probably be about three more chapters in this fic. Read on and enjoy!

Black Panther belongs to Marvel

X

America was different from Wakanda, it was something he couldn't quite quantify, beyond the obvious infrastructure and people. There was something in the air that wasn't like Wakanda, it was hostile and heavy; oppressive. T'Challa's eyes observed everything as he stood quietly beside his father, it was the first time he had been in America since N'Jadaka left almost ten years ago. Everything was strange about the country, different.

He supposed that was to be expected, but T'Challa had visited other developed nations and there wasn't this sense of paranoia, this all-consuming fear. It was everywhere, in the media, in their politicians, in the people itself.

Something in T'Challa's chest was thankful they weren't staying long, that it was only a brief stopover, before they travelled to Sokovia, for his father (and in consequence) T'Challa were only there to speak with the President of the United States about recent trade negotiations. The rest of T'Challa wanted to stay longer, to see N'Jadaka.

It had been years since they had seen each other in person. T'Challa had watched his younger brother grow up through the screen of a monitor, watched his eyes darken, and his hair grow, listened to the wisdom he had gained. It helped but it didn't stop the soft edges of his memory and the ache in his chest.

They parted in the hallway of the hotel and it was like his feet were on one of the strange conveyor belts, moving forward of their own accord as he entered his room and placed his luggage near the bed. For a moment, T'Challa stood there uncertain. Eventually, he unpacked and changed into the suit he had chosen to wear for their dinner with the president. It was supposed to be an honour, but T'Challa knew it was yet another posing affair, like a group of peacocks clucking about.

A few minutes or maybe an hour later, T'Challa shifted in the large chair he was curled in, it afforded a pretty view of New York's cityscape and T'Challa almost imagined he could see the wreck of the alien invasion from a few years ago. An invasion where they had done nothing and N'Jadaka could have died. He hadn't been in New York at the time, on a road trip with his friends to visit the southern states and the museums there; all about the Civil War.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and the stubble there before his fingers trailed to rest over his chest, where the necklace Shuri had thrust on him resided. It was still a prototype but hopefully, it would protect him. His gaze strayed to his hand and he flexed it in the low light of the hotel room, looking at his skin and imagining the claws of the Black Panther.

Sokovia.

It settled uneasily in his chest, the whole matter left a bitter taste in his mouth. The accords sounded pleasant on first glance, a way to restrict the destruction of super-powered battles. But, having a governing body dictate when they could fight, who they could save, it rattled uneasily. A power like that could be corrupted easily. And maybe it was a matter of freedom.

But eleven Wakandans had died, elven of his people who would never return home, whose families were grieving for them. It burned in his chest, this damage caused by vigilantes and part of the accords felt like retribution, like compensation.

And yet if Wakanda was known to the world, and with it the Black Panther, T'Challa would be forced to sign the documents. He would be handing over his ability to protect his people into the hands of dithering politicians. And that's what they were.

Maybe N'Jadaka was rubbing off on him.

T'Challa had listened often enough to his rants about how one system of government or another was corrupt, absolutely utterly corrupt. Of course. How the people had the power to change things but never did, how the American people sat in their own compliance, a lobster boiling in water. In the next minute, he would talk about how their history was so interesting, the way they influenced the rest of the world, their wars, their movies, their technology.

By Bast above he missed his brother.

Sighing, T'Challa rose to his feet and rested his forehead against the cool glass. It was hard when your only mode of communication was through a screen, sometimes at random or inopportune moments. There was something impersonal about it, and T'Challa felt like he couldn't share things, that they needed to be said in person. And so, they sat inside his mind and he knew it was the same for N'Jadaka, and for Shuri. There was a disconnect.

They tried, honestly and truly. But even that wasn't enough to erase time and distance, sometimes they felt like passing strangers, and other times they were still as close as before if not more so brought by maturity.

It was similar to how in their home N'Jadaka wasn't spoken of like he had been erased from existence, as if he had never come to Wakanda. And it was only the hushed moments between T'Challa and Shuri that made him feel real like he wasn't some imaginary friend.

Loud music blasted suddenly and irreverently. T'Challa startled and scrambled through the pockets of his pants and pulled out his phone the screen shaking at him with a familiar name. Shaking his head with a grin he reminded himself to change the ring tone Shuri had set and answered the call.

"Yo bro, bad time?"

T'Challa settled in the chair once more, it was surprisingly comfy, and shook his head as he replied, "No, I'm just waiting in our hotel for the dinner to begin."

"Fancy dinner with the president, look at you go T'Challa, living the life huh?"

N'Jadaka teased with a huff and in the background, T'Challa could hear the passing traffic of the street. Rolling his eyes T'Challa replied, "Hardly."

"Right, right, boring stuffy dinners and all that. Glad I skipped on that. Oh, you know what I learned today?"

"What?"

T'Challa replied with a huff of laughter at his brother's nonchalance and the way his accent dipped and very nearly disappeared every other word. He could almost imagine N'Jadaka's grin, the way his eyes would light up and his brows would curl in that way that never ceased to force a smile onto his own features.

"So, like get this. Thomas Jefferson the dude that said 'all men are born equal' or whatever right? He had like the most slaves, even married one. And after he died, you'd think he'd let her, and her children go free. But nah, decided to keep them in his family as slaves. Interesting huh? Not as interesting though as the fact that the US dismantled a democracy to get the oil they wanted. Man, this country."

N'Jadaka finished with a huff that failed to hide that underneath the faux casualness there was something bitter. N'Jadaka had always liked history, even more so their military history, he had wanted to know everything about Wakanda. It only made sense that once he had finished his degree in political science, he had gone on to study American history.

"Just come from a lecture?"

T'Challa questioned wryly as he adjusted the phone against his ear and glanced casually about the room which was almost certainly bugged. There was silence for a moment as the noise of the street overwhelmed the call before N'Jadaka replied, "Yeah, now I'm off to get me some Starbucks."

"I thought you said it wasn't that good? Also don't you have a class you need to teach soon?"

"Nah man, that's blasphemy. Anyways, you're here in America you can try a pumpkin spice latte and go see heaven yourself. And yeah I have a class but they're all adults they understand if a man needs some coffee."

N'Jadaka replied and T'Challa could almost see him running a hand through his dreads with a shrug as he held some fancy drink that cost too much (his words) in his hands. Privately, T'Challa was proud of N'Jadaka's choice to teach adult ESL classes, even if he complained about (was very happy) about being called professor. Shuri was still upset he hadn't gone into politics yet. They were both patiently waiting for the day he verbally flayed a room full of old white men.

"Yeah, yeah it's your job."

"Exactly. Hey, how long are you in the good ol' U.S of A for anyway?"

N'Jadaka questioned and T'Challa could hear the hope in his voice. It echoed somewhere in his chest all consuming and part of T'Challa wanted to leave the hotel, bolt down the elevator and to the nearest Starbucks and wrap his brother in a hug. He couldn't. He had a duty to his country.

"Tonight's the last night, we leave for Sokovia tomorrow. For the accords."

"Aw man, that sucks. Don't suppose you'll let me break into your hotel room for a little sleepover. At least you'll get to meet the Avengers."

N'Jadaka replied and he could hear the sadness, the resignation in his voice even beneath the faux joviality. T'Challa sighed, quietly, and glanced out at the city below him for a minute before he replied, "No I don't think that would go over well. I suppose that counts towards something."

"Don't be so down about. Honestly, it won't be that bad."

"Just boring."

T'Challa replied with a hint of a grin because they both remembered countless council meetings standing by his father's side and listening to debates over the agriculture. N'Jadaka chuckled and the sound settled something in T'Challa's chest. The door opened behind him.

"Yeah, Shuri I'm taking tons of pictures, no I'm not going to try a hot dog from a street vendor."

T'Challa replied in what was typical code for T'Chaka appearing suddenly. N'Jadaka sighed on the other end of the line and T'Challa didn't let the same expression pass over his own features as his brother replied, "I'll talk to you soon T'Challa, try not to die of boredom alright?"

"Yeah, I'll talk to you soon. Bye."

T'Challa ended the call and tried to suppress the heaviness in his chest as he turned to face his father. T'Chaka was old, it was hard to notice when someone aged with you, but there were more greys than black in his hair, and the lines around his eyes were deep. It felt sudden.

"Ready my son?"

He questioned and T'Challa nodded and rose to his feet, straightening the collar of his outfit he stepped forward. T'Chaka rested a hand on his arm, one reaching up to cradle his jaw for a moment, T'Challa stared into his father's eyes and saw an age of wisdom there. T'Chaka would one day abdicate the throne and T'Challa would be King, would rule over all of Wakanda. He wasn't certain if he was ready.

"I'm proud of you my son."

T'Chaka stated and patted his cheek with a crooked little grin that was familiar for all of its rarity. Grinning, T'Challa bowed with his hand clasped over his breast, T'Chaka stepped back and together they exited the room. Everything would be okay.

X

T'Chaka was dead, his father was dead, his father who was alive the night before, who smiled at him and was proud of him, was dead. Dead. The word rang on and echoed in his mind like a bell, like a missile, like something all-consuming and destroying. Everything was a blur and all T'Challa could think amidst his grief was that his father should still be alive, should have grey hair and be able to greet his grandchildren, and tell them stories. T'Challa was supposed to be King soon, but never this soon.

What was he supposed to tell his sister? His mother? His people? It burned inside T'Challa like the bonfires they set in the early fall that reached up towards the sky ever grasping and consuming. It burrowed and it burned and T'Challa knew that his father needed to be avenged, that he couldn't let the man who had killed his father, his father who should be alive, who wanted peace, live free.

Donning the mantle of the Black Panther was different than any of his previous missions, border control and the rescue of captured citizens, there was an urgency to it that thrummed through his bones, his blood, till the world was washed in sheets of grey.

After everything was over, and the anger cleared away like the first spring thaw, T'Challa sat in an empty hotel room, alone. It was clearer, the true villain behind everything, but that failed to erase the fact that T'Challa was King. King a leader who guided their people, who represented the country, the future and the past. There was a case of luggage on the bed that wasn't his, that belonged to a father who would not wear it again, who wouldn't laugh with him, or praise Shuri for her genius, who wouldn't share secretive smiles with his mother. There was a man that was gone. And T'Challa was alone.

His father wasn't perfect, T'Challa knew it. And yet. His father was a good man and he desperately wished that there had been more time, that his father would have been able to speak to him, to hand the throne to him with a smile. He already missed his smile, his laugh, the fussy way he pulled at his clothes, the way he cracked his knuckles randomly, his hugs, the sayings he always spouted. Everything.

There were things he needs to do, unanswered messages on his phone, funeral arrangements he needed to oversee, his coronation, he needed to, he needed to… T'Challa shuddered and his breath was harsh, and he couldn't quite grasp it as it fled from his lungs and his eyes burned. He wiped away the tears, he couldn't grieve, not yet, he needed to return to Wakanda, to his family, to his country. All who were grieving. He couldn't, he didn't have the time.

He pulled out his phone, Okoye promised to book their flight home and he trusted her with his life, but there were still things he needed to do, to finish, to start. He needed to call his mom and Shuri, he vaguely recalled calling them after everything, before the news broke, but it was like playing broken telephone and the words fade in and out of his mind. He should update them, he should tell them about the real killer, he should tell them he was coming home. With his father's body.

The screen was blurry through his tears and too bright in the dim light of hotel room cast into stark relief by the city outside his window and T'Challa could feel the soreness of his body like a background throb to the beating of his heart, and everything was so heavy.

With a press of his thumb, the phone unlocked and T'Challa was forced to stare at a photo of his family, they were all gathered around the dinner table celebrating one thing or another, they were smiling, laughing and carefree. It hurt. So much.

It was like a dam that cannot stand the pressure and tears began to pour down his cheeks and his breath hiccupped in his chest and he couldn't stop the sobs that escaped his mouth, couldn't hide it anymore. He had to accept it. His father was dead, and he would never hear his voice or see his smile again. Ever.

He tugged his knees to his chest on the impersonal bed, in the impersonal room and wanted to be home with his family. Everything was dark and cold and T'Challa felt like he was five again and scared of the dark. Except his father wasn't there to chase away the monsters anymore. And he could feel the responsibility settling onto his shoulders like, like the world itself and all its expectations. He wasn't ready. He didn't know what to do. He'd failed his father. He couldn't save his life. How could he be King?

The door opened but T'Challa didn't hear it, didn't acknowledge it, he couldn't. The footsteps were loud, and those he couldn't ignore because he was scared of being alone, but he couldn't appear weak, he needed to be strong, unbreakable. He looked up and in the darkness of the room he wasn't certain if what was in front of him was real, like an apparition or a ghost called to him by his grief.

Then N'Jadaka took a step forward and he was in front of T'Challa and he was real, he was heat and the smell of sweat and sandalwood (because he always liked looking good and pampering himself) and his arms wrapped around T'Challa and they were heavy, and they were real. T'Challa buried his face in N'Jadaka's neck and sobbed, the tears fell, and his eyes burned and N'Jadaka a shushed him gently and rubbed slow circles into his spine and T'Challa grieved.

That was all there was for a while. The dark, his tears, and N'Jadaka. His heartbeat was strong in T'Challa's ears, echoed his own heart and he focused on it like a lifeline, let it drown everything else out until there was just the sound of a heart beating and T'Challa could start to catch his breath. N'Jadaka didn't pull away, his arms were warm and heavy around T'Challa's shoulders and they grounded him, guided him back to the moment.

His grief was still there, a raw wound that bled sluggishly through his chest. But it was not so deep anymore and T'Challa knew that in time it would heal, it would remain a scar, but it would heal. He focused on his breathing, emptied his mind and counted time to the beat of N'Jadaka's heart till the world around him wasn't shaking and swaying, only then did he lift his head.

N'Jadaka tilted his head and T'Challa could see his eyes in the darkness and they were like pools of water at night, boundless and depthless, he was taller then T'Challa and it was small but noticeable as he crooked a ragged smile that highlighted the exhaustion on his features as he said, "Hey, brother."

"Hey."

T'Challa replied with a crooked smile as he wiped away the tears on his face, N'Jadaka's arms tightened around T'Challa and he shifted and looped his own arms around his brother pulling him tight against his chest he whispered, "How are you here?"

"Took a flight over the moment the story broke. I'm sorry T'Challa, I may not have liked the old man much, but he still raised me."

N'Jadaka replied his words muffled into the creased fabric of T'Challa's shirt, he nodded and threaded his fingers through the material of N'Jadaka's t-shirt, he couldn't believe he was really there, that he had flown over to see T'Challa. That this was the situation that had forced them to meet once again in almost ten years threaded itself through his mind. He leaned back and stared at N'Jadaka bringing his fingers up to trace the line of his jaw, the dreads hanging over his forehead, the slant of his nose, re-familiarizing himself with his brother.

"You got old."

N'Jadaka said as he trailed his fingers along his jaw and the beard there his eyes crinkled, and his words were soft as he bit his lip. T'Challa huffed and attempted a weak smile probably more akin to grimace. He couldn't quite smile, the expression felt as if it slipped through his fingers, but he nodded and asked, "How did you get in here.

"Okoye."

N'Jadaka replied with a shrug even as his fingers brushed gently over the back of his neck and over his shoulders, it settled T'Challa, brushed away the tense line of his shoulders and he slumped forward once more. He felt exhausted as if the events of everything had finally reached him and were angry for being so long ignored.

"Come on you need some fresh air. Well as fresh as you can get here."

His brother stated and hooked his arms under T'Challa's and pulled him up. He sighed but it failed to hide his amusement as N'Jadaka dragged him towards the balcony and thrust the door open. He didn't drag T'Challa outside, just plopped him onto the carpeted floor in front of the door and settled beside him, pressed side to side.

Instantly, the noise of the city filtered through the walls, the blare of traffic below, the caw of nearby birds, the rustle of wind bringing with it the faint scent of the city. T'Challa inhaled and stared out into the night at the blinking glow of the skyscrapers reaching upwards in a desperate attempt to pierce the skies.

"You're King now T'Challa."

N'Jadaka stated, and the words were heavy, were there and real. T'Challa flinched, everything was tensed, and he turned to face his brother, he couldn't think about that, not now. He wasn't ready. T'Challa said in warning, "N'Jadaka."

"If you want me to return to Wakanda I will, I'll come home with you. Be your second in command or whatever."

N'Jadaka replied and his eyes stared into T'Challa's own and they were like the sun burning, and promising, scorching everything in their path. T'Challa's breath stuttered in his lungs as he stared into his brother's eyes for a long moment, the words suspended between them with only the darkness to acknowledge it.

"It's okay N'Jadaka, the U.S has become your home. I would not part you from it when I know you're happy here. Besides Shuri has already claimed that position."

T'Challa replied and the words felt tender, unsure, and maybe they stuck themselves into his brain. But they were right, T'Challa wanted his family to be happy above all else and if that meant a distance of a thousand miles then it was okay.

"You're such a self-sacrificing idiot you know? I miss Wakanda too. But I know what you mean T'Challa, I'll wait, let you sort things out, come home for the coronation or something. Shuri can be your second in command till then but after that? I'm taking my rightful place."

T'Challa laughed at N'Jadaka's reply and nodded leaning his head against his brother's shoulder with a sigh he felt deep in his chest. N'Jadaka's fingers twitched across the carpet and as he stared out at the world beyond, he said, "I can't wait to see what you'll do as King T'Challa, you're what Wakanda needs right now. What the damn well rest of the world needs too. You're going to do great… he would be proud of you."

T'Challa sucked in a silent breath and his fingers tightened over N'Jadaka's as he closed his eyes and felt them burn once more with tears. N'Jadaka turned and began to fret his fingers skimming across his face as he murmured about making him cry and how Shuri was going to hit him. T'Challa laughed, it was sore in his chest and rough like rust but it was laughter as he shushed his brother and said, "Thanks. I think he would be proud of you too N'Jadaka."

N'Jadaka stared at T'Challa for a long moment before he sighed and turned to look out into the darkness as he replied, "Yeah. Of both of us."

They sat together in the darkness of the hotel room pressed shoulder to shoulder and watched as the sun crept over the city. It wasn't Wakanda and yet, all the same, it reminded T'Challa fiercely of their first night together. His grief was still fresh and T'Challa wasn't ready, wasn't prepared for the throne. But he could do it, he would do it for his family and for Wakanda.

X

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I mean it was kind of sad, but it was an important chapter. Also, no, this fic does not have Erik and T'Challa as a pairing, it is strictly platonic. Thank you. Reviews/comments are always appreciated, till next time!