"I fought for you," Clint says, glaring. The words stream from his mouth, harsh and agonized. "I gave up so much for you. Laura—my kids—Wanda and Scott and Sam and Steve—we all suffered to try and help you. Natasha too, even. Because we believed Steve. We believed you when you told Steve that you'd changed. And now—" Clint shakes his head, slamming his fist into the wall of the ship.

"Don't break anything!" hollers the man in the trenchcoat.

"He's upset; let him punch things," comments the raccoon, waving his paw.

"Breaking things does often help me feel better," confirms the mini-Hulk.

"Say something!" Clint yells, grabbing Bucky's shoulders. Bucky could fight him off, but he just doesn't care. "Please," Clint begs, and Bucky knows Clint's accusations are all lies; he doesn't mean them, but he should.

He keeps seeing the temple explode, feeling the rush of heat. Natasha.

And he hears himself agreeing to Loki's terms. I never should have agreed. I never should have trusted him.

"Tell me what happened!"

I allied with the demigod who unleashed aliens on New York to save my own mind, Natasha helped bail me out, and then we were planning to break into Asgard and she got blown up.

He can't.

He'll never change. Not now. Bucky wishes he was dead, wishes he was the one blown up.

Shame sticks to his blood, traveling through every millimeter of his body.

"You're pathetic," Clint accuses.

"I can make him talk," offers the mini-Hulk, stepping forward with a gleam in his eyes. At that, Bucky's head snaps up.

Dammit! His body still wants to care about his life when his soul's given up on it.

"Not on my ship!" explodes the man in a trenchcoat, leaping in front of the mini-Hulk. "Not here, not now, Drax!"

"You're no fun," complains the raccoon.

"I don't think it'd even work," remarks the green woman, perched against the side of the ship and watching Bucky with unwavering eyes. "He doesn't care."

"He doesn't care?" Clint yells.

"Not like that." The woman waves her arm impatiently. "He looks defeated."

"He is?" offers the armored woman.

Bucky jerks his gaze away from the green woman. She reminds him of Natasha, even in her outfit, and he hates it because it reminds him of what his stupidity, his desperation, his weakness, sacrificed.

"Well, we are here," pronounces the trenchcoat man. "Landing in five-four-three…"

Bucky closes his eyes as the ship slams onto the ground. His teeth clack together.

"I am Groot," the tree offers.

Bucky keeps his eyes shut.

"I am Groot," the tree says again, and something rough scrapes his face. Bucky's eyes fly open to see the tree frowning at him. Is it trying to hug him?

Go away, Bucky thinks.

"Come on," Clint says with a scowl. He readies his arrows. "Time to face the music. And if you try anything, I won't hesitate to shoot you. You aren't my friend."

Of course not. Friends. Bucky could almost laugh. The moment he has one besides Steve, she dies.

He remembers her kiss and wishes he'd told her more. They could have run for it, all those years ago. She made him feel alive, like no one ever did besides Steve, because she cared about him. And she was beautiful.

I'm so sorry.

"Here." The green woman yanks him up and practically drags him off the ship and into the blazing sunlight of Wakanda.

"You're back!" cries the man Bucky remembers as being the size of an ant, and then a giant. "Where's the redhead?"

"Bucky!" Sam flies over. "God, Steve's going to—"

"What's wrong?" demands a woman dressed in red, the one with magic. She clutches the hand of the purple man, the one who fought against them last time. And, oh shit, there's Iron Man and his friend, and T'Challa. Tony's face caves in with pain when he sees Bucky, and Bucky against wishes he were dead.

Thor appears, hammer clutched in his hand, and Bruce Banner. The armored woman shakes her head at Thor.

And Steve. He stares at Bucky and then runs to him. Why why why why why?

"You're back!" Steve gasps. "Bucky, I was so—you—"

Bucky's shaking. His eyes dart about and he can't focus.

"Nat's dead," Clint says harshly.

Steve's face drains. Bucky focuses on that. Look at what you've done. It's not his voice. It's from the past.

"What?" asks Tony in a low, deadly tone.

"I don't know what happened," Clint says in an anguished voice. "Ask him!"

Bucky shakes his head. He can't breathe.

"Nat can't be dead," the witch says, her voice trembling.

"How?" asks T'Challa. Bruce Banner turns and runs down the hallway, away from them.

"I'll make sure he's okay," says the armored woman, darting after him.

See what pain you've caused?

He always imagined it. Now, Bucky sees up close and raw and bloody.

"Bucky?" Steve croaks out. "What happened?" His fingers shake as he grabs Bucky's arm, but Bucky can't look at him. His friend. His only friend, his best friend, and he might as well have stabbed him through the heart, because he took away Steve's other friend. It burns and it throbs in his chest, and he can't get away from it, he can't fight it. She's dead because of me.

He shakes his head, because he can't explain it, not with Thor's brother watching, not with everyone grieving. Sam's wiping tears from his eyes, even.

"What happened?" screams Clint. "Tell me!"

"Why did you leave?" demands T'Challa, stepping forwards. "Were you abducted?"

Bucky shakes his head again.

"Shit!" Steve swears, possibly for the first time that Bucky's ever heard. "Bucky, tell me! What happened to Natasha?" His voice breaks, and it's going to keep breaking, shatter, because Natasha's dead and it's his fault.

"He's in shock," T'Challa intervenes. "He can't answer anything right now."

Why are you even still trying? Bucky wants to scream at Steve. Why?

"Did you kill her?" demands Thor, gripping his hammer.

Did I?

He's not sure.

He wants to say no, but he remembers the feel of her lips against his and he thinks that he did, that it's his fault.

"He looks confused," offers the purple man.

"What did I just say?" demands t'Challa, exasperated.

"Uh, he just supposedly killed—" says the ant-man.

"We don't know that," Sam snaps. "He's confused. Give him some space."

"Did they hurt him?" Steve manages. "Did he get hit on the head?"

"Not by us," says the green woman.

"Gamora, can you follow me with him?" requests T'Challa. "We have a room we can put him in. For now. I'll send medics in. Let him calm down, and then we'll talk." He grabs Steve's shoulder as Steve takes a step forwards. "He needs to calm down first."

The green woman hauls Bucky away, and as he looks over his shoulder, he sees Steve staring in horror, but not following. The look on his face is like he's seen a monster.

And Clint's face is full of regret.


"We need to figure out what to do," pleads Natasha.

"Getting into Asgard with just two of us isn't going to—"

Natasha shakes her head. "I don't give a damn about Asgard. Where is Bucky?"

Loki crosses his arms. "I have no idea where your boyfriend is."

"Well, we need to look for him." Natasha flexes her back and winces. Every joint in her body throbs.

"What's the point?" demands Loki.

"You saved my life," Natasha says. "I don't know why you did it or what you get out of it, but I'm sure you get something. What do I have to give you to get you to help me now?"

Loki holds up the Infinity Gauntlet. "I have the universe at my fingertips. Should I—"

"Oh, shut up," Natasha snaps.

Loki taps it and smirks. "You're not as cool and collected as you usually are."

"No," Natasha says, shaking. "I'm not. I need to—we need to—"

Loki rolls his eyes. Shadows creep along the walls, slithering towards them as daylight fades.

"You're not as conniving as you usually are," Natasha snaps.

"Because I saved your life?"

"What are you getting from it? What is my life worth to you?" she asks, leaning back.

Loki grits his teeth. The gold of the Infinity Gauntlet winks at her. He glances towards the door to the hut where they've been hiding.

"You don't want to be a monster," Natasha says slowly.

Loki's eyebrows swoop together. He glares at her, and she knows she's dug up something he wants to stay hidden, though why, she doesn't quite understand. Is it really so shameful, to think that you might not be a monster?

It's a betrayal of all you've done, all you've hurt. Natasha grimaces.

Loki drops to the floor. He won't look at her.

It's still too late, Natasha thinks. For you. Maybe for Bucky. "Please. Help me." She doesn't like pleading. She hasn't begged ever since she begged God to save her friend in that hospital and was rewarded only with blood and sunken, unseeing eyes. "Please."

Loki snorts. "Now you sound pathetic. Like mortals are supposed to sound, instead of proud and—"

"Please," Natasha says again. "We can go look, see what we find. If nothing, we—"

"That'll be the end of the road," Loki cuts in.

"Not for me." She shakes her head. It will never be the end of the road, not for me. She's used to losing, grasping and having whatever goodness is in her life torn away. She stopped reaching for things long ago.

But now she has a chance, now she has someone, and she will keep searching and keep looking if it kills her. Steve, I understand now.

Dead parts of her light on fire.

"You and my brother are more alike than you realize," Loki tells her without a smile. He slips the gauntlet on. "Let's go."


"Knock, knock," says Tony.

Steve stares out a window, but he's sees nothing except brightness. No greenery or sky or life registers.

Natasha's dead.

Hadn't they always known that their roles could or would lead to something like this, eventually? But when it wasn't happening, when Tony was able to gasp out a joke after falling from a portal above New York, it was easy to deny that it was a possibility.

The collateral damage is their own this time, and Steve's reminded of all the friends he lost in the war. All the women he saw screaming and weeping over boyfriends, husbands, fathers who would never come home. And the friends.

Friends like Bucky. He wants to get drunk again now, just like after his death, and there's no Peggy to rescue him. No Nat. Sharon can't come.

All because of me and our stupid civil war.

"I don't really want to talk," Steve says tersely. Mr. Perfect, the perfect failure.

"Yeah, sulking can be fun. Ask me how I know." Tony strides in anyways. Steve rolls his eyes, because of course Tony does. The man has no respect or-

"How's everyone?" Steve manages. Are you my friend or enemy?

"Not wonderful. Wanda's crying. So's Laura and Clint. Thor's an anxious mess." Friend, Tony seems to decide. Or at least acquaintance.

"Bruce?"

"Locked himself in a small holding cell to hulk out in. Guess he and T'Challa prepared that last night." Tony shrugs. "What exactly was going on between Natasha and Bruce?"

"She liked him," Steve answers, turning away from the window. The brightness lingers in his eyes, obscuring the dim room. "He didn't want to hurt her."

"So he hurt her by leaving her," Tony comments.

"You're one to talk." Stev e doesn't care if he sounds self-righteous, because damn, it feels good. It feels good to tear Tony down right now, when all the things Tony did to him—to Bucky—flash through his mind, sit like lumps under his skin.

"Yeah, thanks for that." Tony blows out his breath. "Have you talked to your friend yet?"

"No. I will," Steve adds hastily. His heart pounds and pounds; his throat clamps. You weren't right, you weren't right. "T'Challa says they sedated him for now, but we need to find out what happened."

"I agree, and I think your methods are probably better than mine," Tony says.

Steve glares at him. "Thanos could have been involved."

"Considering all the weirdness going on in the galaxy at the moment, probs," Tony agrees.

"Just say it," Steve says irritably.

"Say what?"

"You think Bucky killed Natasha."

"No," Tony says. "You do."

Steve glares. You're so smug. "I don't."

"Then why haven't you gone and seen him?"

"Because he was sedated."

"Yeah, eight hours ago. It's worn off and you're smart enough to know that."

"He didn't," Steve says, clinging to his words like a life preserver as everything crashes over him, tries to drown him. "He wouldn't hurt—he was a good friend, Tony. My best friend. He threw punches to defend me, not to—"

"I'm not saying Bucky killed Nat. I'm saying it's possible" Tony rubs his forehead. "The Winter Soldier did. You saw him when he lost it, when they said—what was it?"

"Trigger words," Steve mutters.

"Yeah."

"He didn't."

But even if he did, Steve can't fault him. It's not his fault. But if he did, Steve doubts he'll ever be able to convince Bucky not to believe that.

What if he's lost two friends, instead of one?

"Bucky didn't," Tony agrees. "But maybe the Winter Soldier did. And if Thanos is involved, we need to find out what happened."

"I'm surprised you haven't broken in there to try and murder him," Steve spits out. Spite slimes his voice, and he can't take it back and he doesn't know if he wants to. "You're my friend, Tony, and you betrayed me and Wanda and Sam and Clint. And Scott. Friends don't do that. You can't even claim brainwashing."

"I can claim that your friend murdered my mother. Try to make friends with someone who killed someone you love. Hard, isn't it?" Tony glares at him.

"Imagine you murdered people, without intending to. Hell, Bucky wanted to kill people less than you did when you were selling weapons," Steve snaps. "Can't you even try to imagine that? Or do you have any empathy left? Can't you—that was what they made Nat do too, okay?"

"Nat didn't kill anyone I loved."

Steve snorts. "Did you ever ask her?"

Tony blanches.

"Give him a chance to try and re—"

"Do we need to get involved here?" Sam and Rhodey both appear in the doorway, wearing identical scowls.

"No," Tony and Steve say in unison.

"You," Tony says. "Did you ever ask me what it was like for me when my parents died?"

The blood drains from Steve's face. He shakes his head.

"I'm gonna need a drink for this."

"I can't get drunk."

"Lucky you," Tony tells Steve, ghosts haunting the lines in his face.


"They're all dead," Loki muses, stepping over a body. "Impressive."

"Thanos?" Natasha asks.

"No, these Kree work for Thanos." Loki can feel the Infinity Gauntlet thrumming with power. It sucks him in, whispers to him. He shakes his head. "This one's neck was snapped, and those two were shot with some sort of weapon. Oh, and these three got hit with arrows."

"And here are ropes," Natasha says. "As if they had a prisoner who escaped."

"I am not sojourning all over Nornheim to try and find the escaped Winter Soldier," Loki snaps. The trees cast ghoulish shadows, filtering the sunlight to look almost green.

"Bucky," Natasha corrects. "Not the Winter Soldier."

"I think the whole point of him allying with me is because he doesn't want to be the Winter Soldier anymore. Which would, you know, imply he still is." Loki spreads his palms as if to say I don't make the rules.

"You're despicable."

"So now we're back to that." It's familiar territory to Loki. Feels better, more familiar, than reluctant gratitude.

"Do you ever think that maybe he's better off for it?"

Natasha glares at him. "You don't know what it's like to be made into something you never had a choice about."

"Don't I?" Loki closes his eyes, and his facade drops away. Blue replaces skin, red glows from his eyes, and the grass around him shrivels under frost. "Isn't this the face of a monster?"

"I don't know."

"See?" Loki scoffs as he turns back into his usual self.

"Your choices make you a monster. When you don't have choices—"

"Like poor you and poor Bucky," Loki mocks.

"No, like Bucky. Not like me." Natasha looks up at the cobwebby branches arching over their heads. "I never had much of a chance, no, but I had more choice than he did."

"I was raised to hate Frost Giants. The Allfather never considered telling me I was one, not until he planned to place me on the throne of a planet I hated and had only visited for battles," Loki spits. Rage surges within him, and his eyes sting. Dammit.

"And if you had been raised there? Raised to hate Thor and the Asgardians, and then changed your mind? That'd be more like—" Natasha cuts herself off.

Like you. Loki crosses his arms. "The Allfather could have raised me and taught me who I was. Been honest. Then I could have chosen. Now it's too late."

"Bullshit."

"You think I can be anything other than Loki, Destroyer of New York?"

"You're giving yourself a title now?" Natasha scowls.

He smirks, and to his surprise, she almost smiles. And then her smile's gone. "A lot of innocent people died then."

"I know." If the Allfather only had...

If you only had.

Loki flinches.

"Wait," Natasha says, leaping over one of the bodies and plucking an arrow from it. She examines it.

"What are you doing?" Loki demands.

"This is Clint's."

"The—Hawkeye? Are you sure?"

"I'm positive." Excitement flashes in Natasha's usually stoic voice.

He cared enough to come for you.

"If it was him, they're likely back on earth," Loki says.

"Take me there."

"I can't. I'd have to go with you, and then—they'd kill me on sight."

"Not if I didn't let them. Or you wore a disguise." Natasha's hands tremble. "Loki, if we can get the Avengers to rally against Thanos."

"I can't ask my brother for his friends' help! Not again." He stumbles backwards into a tree, gasping in the sticky air. He wants to do this. Himself. Prove himself.

"I used to think I couldn't rely on anyone either," Natasha tells him.

Loki closes his eyes. No, Loki. Falling, screaming, torture, you're not even as his heart screamed you are, you always are.

What would Frigga want you to do?


"I'm so sorry," Jane tells Thor.

He nods. He can barely think. "I need to see my father." He brushes past her.

Sif's already in there. Odin doesn't look at Thor when he comes in.

"Father?" Thor asks, voice cracking. Please recognize me. Please talk to me. Father, I need you.

Odin shakes his head and mumbles something nonsensical.

Thor curses and storms out of the room. Loki, you can burn in Helheim.

What is there even for Thanos to take?

Thor almost laughs. The great and mighty god of thunder, ready to give up.

"How is your father?" inquires a Sokovian voice to his left. Wanda sits on a small window seat, resting her head against the glass.

"Not well." Thor shakes his hammer. "I don't know what to do."

"About your brother?"

Thor shrugs and drops down next to her.

"Do you miss him?" Wanda asks.

"I would kill him with my bare hands if he were here right now," Thor vows. He tightens his grip on Mjolnir's handle as if imagining it were Loki's neck.

"I once fought against you," Wanda points out.

"Loki is—"

"Knows lots of information on Thanos, if Gamora is right. If you kill him, can you at least wait until we have information first?" She leans forward, peering into his eyes.

Thor stares outside, at the foggy greenery. Mountains lurch in the distance, swathed in low-lying clouds. "Is it that important to you?"

"Thanos needs the mind gem in Vision's head. The thing that gives him life," Wanda says. "I can't let that happen. Vision would—he'd consider handing himself over, if it would save us, but it won't."

You love him, Thor realizes. An idea sparks in his mind. "Do you think—can you control what kinds of visions you give?"

"Not exactly."

Thor sighs. "So if I asked you to give my father pleasant visions, you could not do it?"

Wanda shakes her head. "I can't control it. I don't know how it works, only that it does." She offers him a sad smile.

"You miss your brother, don't you?" Thor asks, remembering the speedy youngster.

"It felt like I died when he died. And then the Avengers—and then Vision—they helped me. I don't know what I will become if I lose everyone." Wanda examines her fingernails. "Pietro died to save me, to save Clint, to save us all because he knew there was good that can come of that." She rises, looking down at Thor. "I won't let Thanos take that away."


Kind of a downer chapter; sorry about that! Up next week: Natasha and Loki crash the party, Steve tries to help Bucky, and everyone's a massive tangle of anxiety.