Hello, everybody; ModernDayBard here!
Well, if you're still here, I guess you're up for more pain, and who am I to refuse? Let's get on with it, I suppose.
Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel, or anything they own that appears below. I don't even work for them. The only thing I do own are the words I used—I'd say the ideas, but these are probably what-if's that many other fans likewise imagined their own versions of.

Chapter 2: Sister

They had lost.

T'Challa knew that: of course he knew that. All of his new allies had watched someone dear to them fade away, or else been unable to find them, realizing the lost one had been alone in their final moments. But he had been forced to watch half his army disintegrate, one by one. No, not just an army, not just soldiers, these were his people, they had lives, hopes, and dreams, and, as their king, it was supposed to be his job to ensure their country was a place that those hopes and dreams had a chance. He was supposed to protect those lives, as Black Panther, and as their king.

He had failed them, and now he could not even take the time to mourn them—half his people had died, but half had lived, and arguably, they needed him more, at that moment.

So, while the others sat in the stunned grief that threatened to swallow him as well, he forced himself to stand, to search for survivors, to get the injured to help and to get some sense of what needed most to be done. Okoye had lived, and M'Baku, as well, so some small mercies had been granted the young king. The two of them, without a word, knew what he was doing and joined in with organizing searches, and reaching out to those who had escorted the civilians out of the city during the evacuation, to take stock of what and who were left there.

It was Okoye who noticed her king occasionally glancing at the beads on his wrist, and she could've cursed herself for not realizing the fear that weighed on his mind—that should have been on hers as well. But it had been easier, in these first few hours, to concentrate on what was tangible in front of them, what was fixable, and use activity as a wall to hold overwhelming grief at bay.

But they couldn't keep hiding behind it. He couldn't.

"My king, I think it would be best for you to return to the city."

He stared first at her, then scanned the devastated field and the clumps of people still milling about it. "There is still much to be done here."

She nodded, still speaking quietly, knowing he still needed to appear—still needed to be—strong, especially now. "There is much to be done there, as well." She indicated the surviving Avengers with a nod, the devastated heroes having drifted toward each other, discovering which of them had and had not made it yet. "There, they can recover, plan, strategize. Here, they are just underfoot."

T'Challa glanced to the city, visible in the distance, then to her and nodded. "Once I know what the situation is there, I will send what help I can."

She snapped her arms across her chest in salute, then watched him go. She didn't feel relieved at all. "…what the situation is there…" They both knew what he had meant by that and both simultaneously knew and dreaded discovering the answer.

When they arrived back at the city, some of the Avengers did jump into the hive of activity that was the rescue and medical efforts—those that had been less affected, or those who, like him, chose action as a bulwark against grief.

Before T'Challa could even think of joining them, he saw his mother –thank Bast, she was alive, she was there—and her expression froze the young warrior-king.

He never could say, afterward, how the two of them ended up in a small side-room, alone and enough out of sight that their grief could be private, because the next thing he knew, he was seated next to his mother, holding her as she cried—she actually cried.

He had not been there when she heard of his father's death, or (obviously) his own supposed death. It had been Shuri, both those times who saw their mother face the immediate grief.

Shuri.

This wasn't right; this couldn't be—his sister was always there, her humor and her intelligence and her vibrant life a constant. He was the king, he was the Black Panther, but most of all he was her brother and it was his job to protect her, to ensure that she could live and grow up in a world that would understand how brilliant and wonderful she was.

He was supposed to protect the world so she could dazzle it, change it for the better. She was supposed to rule over the lab in the mountain, tease him when he dared intrude her sanctum, glow with pride as she showed of the next piece of tech that stunned him, while she laughed and joked like it was nothing, it was easy. She was supposed to make snarky comments about traditional garb and makeup, but then use those same design elements in her tech, because however much she joked she loved her country and was so proud of her heritage.

She was supposed to outshine him until he was remembered only as her brother, and nothing would make him prouder—

They had lost, and now, he knew it deeply.

So, yeah. Little shorter than last time, but this was more about the reaction then about how it happened, since that didn't change as much (since the snap is still what killed half the universe). This was my first time playing with these particular characters at all, but I think I am pleased with how it turned out. I wasn't quite sure how to start it, at first, but T'Challa's moment of reaching out to Okoye right before he vanishes in the movie kind of gave me a glimpse into how I think he would've acted, had he survived. And I wrote all the way to the scene with his mom before I realize that, in this AU, she has had to face the deaths of every single member of her family (admittedly, one of them being only temporary—but she didn't know that at the time!). I can't even imagine…
As always, if you saw something you liked, or something you think I can fix/improve on for next time, don't hesitate to leave a review and let me know!