A/N: Thank you all for your extreme patience in waiting for an update on this series! As an appreciation for all of you, I've also posted a little short story in the One-Shot series, and if you're interested, Wolf Spider (Dmitri's standalone fic) is complete as of last month, if you'd like more after this chapter.
I've also done a small edit run-through of the entire series to clean up some inconsistencies/plot holes I left behind, as well as adding a small scene here or there to tighten things up. Nothing major, with perhaps the biggest change being changing the Parker home from an apartment to a house.
For FFN readers, I've been having issues receiving notifications thru email, idk whats going on with this website. If you want a more seamless experience you can also read on Ao3 (either as users or guests) and you'll get more reliable responses from me, and you'll probably also get update emails, bc I have no idea if you'll even be able to know to read this now.
Anyways, I apologize for the long wait, let the story commence!
Chapter Twenty-Nine
✭
Blow Me Away | Breaking Benjamin
They were too late.
Steve could smell it before he saw it. Smoke. Thin at first, just a whiff, before the skies turned hazy and soon enough, they could make out the distinct trails as England appeared through the Atlantic haze.
Helicopters swarmed the air like buzzards over a carcass, swinging back and forth. Some were police, others were newscasters with cameras hanging between their skids, and still more were emergency evac.
Most of the smoke came from Buckingham Palace and Westminster. Through the dark smog, red and blue and yellow lights flashed in frenetic chaos. The streets were packed with vehicles, traffic at a complete standstill — a closer look would reveal that most of the vehicles had been abandoned in the chaos. The bridges were all completely impassable. Instead, the Thames had filled with watercraft — more police, as well as civilians, trying to cut through the mass.
Nat fiddled with the ship's unique equipment, trying to access local police dispatch. A flood of panicked and angry voices crackled through, all at once, speaking over each other. A few details were immediately made clear; an unknown number of dead and injured, but hospitals were already overwhelmed and some estimates were already in the triple digits. England was already on a nation-wide lockdown, with the rest of the UK quickly following suit. Flights grounded, trains stopped, absolute terror.
And no one knew how or why it had happened.
It was heartrending just to listen to. Nat switched to an earpiece to better focus the sound, and the cabin fell to silence once more.
The attack was recent — they may have missed Zemo by only a few hours. But he would've needed only a few minutes to cause this much damage and chaos.
The concrete, painted in blood.
Okoye, in the pilot's seat, glanced at her King. "Should we land?"
"If Zemo's gone, then don't think there's anything we can do for them," Sam answered, when the king was silent.
"I wasn't asking you," Okoye shot him a glare, spooking Sam.
Meanwhile, T'Challa remained standing, contemplating in silence as the invisible ship swung down lower to get a better view of the attack.
"I think he's right," he said at last. "If Zemo isn't here, then we would be wasting both time, and our unique capabilities. We must find Zemo before he does this again."
"Where?"
"Paris." Steve said, his voice breaking the sim from behind. Everyone turned to him in surprise. He cleared his throat and continued, "He's going to Paris. He's going after old Allied powers, right? Paris is the closest."
Across the channel, no more than an hour at most if they remained flying. With a nod, T'Challa approved the decision and Okoye piloted the ship away from the city, back towards the English Channel. They swayed gently back and forth as the ship rocked smoothly beneath them, the flying precise and efficient.
"Any news?" Sharon asked, turning to Natasha.
"The royal family is safe," Nat reported, though she didn't look especially relieved. "They've been in Scotland for the past week. But Parliament was in session during the attack. Zemo must have timed it just so. They haven't counted all the dead yet, but there are at least a dozen confirmed deaths of Members, including the Prime Minister."
There was a small collective intake at that, the gravity of the situation — all the death — filling the small cabin.
Nat continued. "Zemo maximized his potential by targeting local police and emergency personnel, which is probably why it's so bad down there. Early reports say those who were taken by the Madbomb and survived have no recall of the event. So, as you can imagine — their response effort has been disorganized."
"And now civilians will be too scared to ask for help," Steve mused darkly. "When he's made them afraid of the people meant to help them."
"Sowing distrust in their own ranks," Sam added. He blinked, frowning at Bucky, who remained sitting in a far corner, bent forward, head down. "You've been quiet."
It seemed to take Bucky a second to realize he was being addressed. His head lifted a fraction. His tone was curt. "Got nothing to add."
"Really? Because my gut tells me we're about to get into the fight of our lives here," Sam pointed out, "Against Zemo and a weapon we have no defense against. Well, aside from these bracelets. You're the living weapon, got any ideas for how we're going to handle this?"
"Hey," Steve said immediately, stepping between them with a hand raised — Bucky was already bristling, and Sam's tone hadn't exactly been friendly. "Now's not the time —"
"If you've got a problem with me, Wilson, just say it," Bucky cut him off, rising to his feet in a manner that definitely had Steve worried. This ship wasn't big enough for a fight. Bucky threw out his hands, "You don't trust me, right? C'mon, let it out. It's not like you're going to hurt my feelings."
"Boys," Nat intoned, a warning carrying across the air. Watch it.
Sam cut a look towards Steve, a silent See? This is what I'm talking about expression. Then he returned Bucky's glare, folding his arms. "Alright, fine. We're all here because of you. Even if we stop Zemo, there's still more mess to clean up. What are we gonna do when Ross comes gunning for us after all this?"
Bucky scowled, looked away. The rest of the ship was silent, no one able to supply a solution at the moment.
It was Steve that said, "We'll cross that bridge when we get there, Sam. Ross isn't our problem right now — Zemo's the bigger threat. But I can promise you all — everyone here — I'm promising you, I'm not going to stand by and let Ross take advantage of the situation. Whatever happens, he's not taking us in. No punishment without a fair trial. No… no imprisonment either."
That got a collective look of surprise for him. Nat's eyebrows shot up. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, Steve?"
"Steve…" Sharon shook her head. "That's a dangerous choice."
"But a bold one," T'Challa said, with a faint look of approval.
Even Bucky looked conflicted. "Don't put a target on your head because of me, Steve. If, in the end, they gotta put me in a cell for this all to go peacefully —"
"No," Steve said, so sharply it got a slight recoil out of Bucky. It even surprised himself, how vehement he sounded. Steve closed his eyes, then continued, "Look, I have no idea how this is going to go. But I'm not giving ground. Not with anyone. Ross isn't taking any of us in. If there's one thing I've learned after all this, there's no appeasing tyrants. You give an inch, and they'll take a mile. I won't settle for any false peace."
"You speak as though going to war," T'Challa said, stepping over to face Steve. He raised his chin slightly, giving Steve a long appraising look. "Against your own government."
"If that's what Ross represents," Steve shrugged. "Then… yeah."
"For a fugitive? For a king of another country?" T'Challa asked, raising an eyebrow. "You have jurisdiction because your government wills it. Everything you have — they can just as easily take it away if you no longer stand for them."
"I've never stood for the power," Steve replied, glancing about the room, then back to the king. "I've stood for the people. That's never changed."
"Even if it means the loss of the Avengers?"
Steve knew that would probably be the cost. The Avengers, as an officially sanctioned team, would be no more. They'd be vigilantes at best, criminals at worst. Having connections and government approval had given them a lot of leeway, a lot of gladhanding and posturing. And maybe there's a small part of Steve a little selfishly relieved at the idea of not having to kowtow to a dozen different bureaucracies anymore. He never enjoyed being America's little circus monkey.
"If it means I have to leave," Steve finally decided. It didn't have to be destroyed because of him, but he knew he certainly wouldn't be able to stay if that was what kept them aboveboard. "Then so be it."
"Well, let's not get too hasty," Natasha interjected, straightening in her seat. "I, for one, always preferred asking for forgiveness rather than permission."
"And really," Sam added, "The Avengers is more of an idea than an official thing. Just because certain people at certain desks don't want us around anymore doesn't mean we stop existing."
"I'm going to pretend I'm not present for this conversation right now," Sharon muttered under her breath, while pinching her brow.
Natasha made a face, frowning at her. "Do you even have plausible deniability at this point?"
"I'd rather not think about it."
"Steve." Bucky appeared at his side, a sullen shadow; head bowed, voice low. "You sure about this? I can't ask you to… to give up all of this. Not for me."
"It's not about you," Steve said, then realized how that might sound. He'd never claim to be a man without doubts, or regrets, but he'd always known where his heart lied. Sometimes the right choice was obvious — even if it wasn't always easy. "I mean, not just about you. It's… everything. Zemo picked you because of me. And Ross? He never really liked us to begin with. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened."
Someone was always going to come around, though Steve didn't know that it would be Thaddeus Ross specifically. But someone that wanted to control the Avengers, wanted to keep them in his pocket. A team, a weapon they could use at their discretion, for their own ulterior purposes. SHIELD tried to do something like that, and even with the best intentions at the head of it, there was still cancer growing underneath.
There was an argument for oversight, Steve knew. But he didn't think Ross was the right person to be making it.
Until then, better that the Avengers remained free, if fugitives, than under the control of the powers that be — powers Steve couldn't trust. The damage that could be wrought in that indeterminate timeframe; he didn't want to think about it.
Bucky remained quiet, eyes on the ground as he contemplated those words. Then, looking back at him, a single nod. No argument, no doubt at all. "Then I'm with you."
Sometimes, Steve envied his friend.
"A dangerous proposal." T'Challa said, but smiled. "But I like it. Okoye? Ayo?"
The two Dora Milaje shared a look that seemed to carry more meaning than Steve could interpret. A knowing, almost amused resignation in their expressions. Ayo, the younger woman with the silver gorget, said, "We trust your decision, your Highness."
"Wherever you go," Okoye added with no hesitation. "We shall follow."
"It seems we are all in agreement," T'Challa observed, hands behind his back. "Unless there are any final objections?"
No one in the cabin spoke; Steve looked around, gauging everyone's expressions, just in case there were any silent reservations. But Bucky seemed to be reassured, and Sharon — though looking tired — didn't appear conflicted. Nat, of course, seemed completely unbothered, and the Dora Milaje seemed at ease despite the battle they were no doubt heading into.
"Looks like it's unanimous," Steve finally looked at Sam, the last call. It seemed the vote had been cast.
"Well, then," Sam looked around, then back to Steve. He gave a small, devil-may-care smile. "Let's go to war."
~o~
Paris was beautiful this time of year.
Though they had no doubt had heard about the news by now, the city was still operating as usual, though police cars were already being sent out on patrol in greater numbers. Perhaps the authorities had, as the team themselves predicted, they would be the next target.
They would be correct.
If only they hadn't played into Zemo's hands.
The average French citizen or tourist wasn't armed. But the police? So much more damage could be had if there were more officers in range.
But weapons or no weapons — the carnage would be glorious.
Steve prayed they'd get there in time.
Prior to leaving Madripoor, they had collected as many of those protective bracelets as they could. Steve didn't know how they'd be able to use them most effectively, but being that they were the only known defense against the Madbomb, it seemed wise to stockpile them. To keep themselves safe in what would no doubt be a terrifying attack. And hopefully save as many innocents as they could.
The bracelets fit over their various suits. They had changed on the way over, not wasting any time. Even Sharon still had an old SHIELD jumpsuit she'd brought along just for the occasion, pale white against the dark interior. Steve felt a strange weight on his shoulders, putting on the old stars and stripes, as it were. The once vibrant reds and whites had faded significantly, and even the blue had desaturated. Perhaps it was just the lighting.
Sam shrugged on his wing pack and Bucky had his pick of available weaponry; a little bit of everything, as he preferred. The leather jacket he now donned had enough little compartments, along with a belt and holster, to carry it all.
Natasha remained in her classic black catsuit, standing next to the more elaborately armored Dora Milaje in their reds and golds. Though Natasha often carried pistols, she also came armed with her electric batons. Considering what they might face, nonlethal methods were a critical element.
In due time, perhaps, the bracelet technology could be studied, reverse engineered, mass produced in order to provide more widespread protection until the Madbomb was destroyed. But such a possibility couldn't happen. Not yet, not anytime soon. T'Challa was confident his country's resources could accomplish this task; considered the matter as simplicity itself it seemed, but there was still no way to have it done immediately. No magic solution.
Just a stern reminder to keep one on. In fact, to wear at least two, just in case. The extras they stuffed in duffel bags. Sharon carried one, the Dora Milaje each carried another. Their priority was to protect as many people as possible, then get the rest away.
"From what I can guess by the recent attacks," Nat said as they flew over Paris. In the center of the cabin, a console illuminated a holographic map of the city. "The Madbomb has a range of about three hundred feet — no obstructions. Wilson and I had no bracelets when we were in the vault, but we also had a dozen feet of solid concrete separating us from Zemo, so that may be an element to consider. But chances are he's going to go for an outdoor attack. Best way to maximize casualties and make a quick escape."
"Zemo will have his own forces," Bucky added quietly. "Either mercenaries or HYDRA operatives. A small army."
"We will cut him off from his escape," T'Challa said. "Our radar will be able to pick up whatever aircraft he is using."
"If he's using an aircraft," Nat commented, screwing up her lips to one side. "He may also have ground transport ready. Either way, Wilson will have air cover. If you receive any damage to your bracelets, stay above three hundred feet."
"Or I'll turn into a flying zombie," Sam said wryly, arms crossed, but the joke didn't carry. "Noted."
"Our priority is to catch Zemo and separate him from the Madbomb." Sharon said, pulling up a holographic image of the weapon. It seemed almost alien in appearance, harmless even. "And destroy it immediately. It's not radioactive, and it only activates through a specific button activation. Its shell is made of solid steel and is immune to EMP effects, and it has several layers of insulation to protect its circuitry. But in the end… It's still circuitry. If we can crack the shell, we can throw it into water — but only after it's been compromised. Otherwise, the water might amplify its auditory effects."
"Give it to me and I can drop it," Sam offered. "After a certain height, water might as well be concrete."
"And the girl?" Ayo asked, raising an eyebrow.
"If Mia's there," Bucky's voice was sharp, quick, before anyone else could answer. "Don't engage her. If you can help it."
He paused, eyes focused on the map. "I'll take care of her."
No one offered any arguments to that.
Steve gave his friend a long look before nodding, "Everyone knows their job. Our priority is Zemo. The sooner we stop him, the better we can minimize any damage he can cause. Try to avoid hurting affected civilians if you can help it. Neutralize, but don't kill."
"HYDRA agents, on the other hand," Nat said perkily. "Give no quarter."
"That's a war crime," Sharon pointed out, shooting Natasha a pointed look. "But yeah. If they don't surrender…"
"We shall defend ourselves as necessary," T'Challa nodded in understanding.
"If I have a shot at Zemo," Bucky cut in. "I'm taking it."
"Uh, we might need him alive," Sam raised a finger. "You know, to clear your name?"
Bucky scowled, looking like he was about to protest. But after a look from Nat, who raised her eyebrows at him, Bucky relented, grumbling under his breath. "Fine. He lives to confess his crimes. But then I'm killing him."
"If given the chance, shouldn't you want him to stand trial?" T'Challa asked, with no small amount of interest as he glanced at Bucky, apparently asking him specifically. His tone was even, though Steve could hear a hidden weight; would the King see Zemo tried in Wakanda for his crimes?
The answer was curt. "No."
Steve could already imagine how many other nations would want to put Zemo to task, if and when he was finally detained. It would make the Nuremberg Trials look like child's play. The process would be lengthy, arduous, beleaguered even; Steve could appreciate the impatience of wanting to see justice done, and rendered as soon as possible.
Steve didn't think a simple killing would be true justice. Personally, he had felt it as some kind of cosmic injustice that Alexander Pierce never got the chance to stand trial, to face a jury of his peers — to be judged by the court of public opinion. For him to look his nation in the face and try to tell them how his efforts to cull his own fellow citizens was a means of protecting them; to face retribution. To realize he was wrong. It was never meant to be. Even now, Steve knew it was wishful thinking.
Steve also wasn't a father. And he wasn't going to tell Bucky he was wrong for the way he felt. For what he wanted to do.
If Zemo died today… Well, Steve wouldn't shed any tears over it.
"Keeping Zemo alive is ideal," Steve finally said, knowing the reality of these situations. Sometimes there was no opportunity to disarm an enemy. Sometimes, they refused to surrender, preferring to fight to their dying breath, or to kill themselves than take on the shame of capture. And Steve wasn't sure which way Zemo would lean. "But if we have no other choice — we'll put him down."
"I have something!" Okoye called from the pilot's seat.
On the map, a red spot bloomed. Steve recognized the spot — a circle, with a series of streets radiating out in a star-like shape. Place Charles de Gaulle.
L'Arc de Triomphe.
Of course, Steve thought. Zemo couldn't resist the symbolism.
The ship picked up speed, taking on an angle of attack that had everyone grabbing for support. As they flew, the rear gangway opened up into open air. Sam didn't hesitate, already running. Pulling down his goggles, he took a flying leap, dropping into open air above the gray-blue rooftops of Paris.
For a moment he seemed to hang in midair; floating, growing smaller and smaller with each passing milli-second — before the wings burst from his pack and caught wind. In a great shriek of air, the Falcon shot out of sight.
"Here we go," Nat murmured under her breath as the ship swung around, and the Arc came into view.
They were a hundred feet above the great marble arch and closing; Even with the wind rushing in, roaring in their ears and sweeping through their hair, Steve could hear it. That awful piercing screech.
The Madbomb.
All around the Arc, in the large circle of traffic, everything had stopped; vehicles screeching to a stop, colliding with each other, pedestrians scattering as metal crunched and horns blaring on and on. Directly around the arc, bodies were writhing; people clutching their ears. Others were already losing their minds, turning on each other. Some tried to run, but never made it off the sidewalk.
"There's civilians trapped atop the Arc!" Sharon called out, pointing to the group scrambling every which way atop what was once supposed to be a mere sightseeing tour. "We'll get them contained! Find Zemo!"
That would not be hard to do.
Over seventy years ago, the Nazi army marched beneath the Arc when they conquered Paris; a show of force, a traumatic victory. In the years that followed, Paris would be home to an unwanted authority, harboring a secret rebellion in its corners and catacombs. But what mattered was that the world had seen the City of Lights brought to its knees.
Zemo stood in the center of it, beneath the arc, holding the Madbomb while his men stood sentry beneath the four different archways. A horrible compass.
There was no more time to discuss strategy. No time to consider a sneak attack. Zemo had chosen his position well; there would be no catching him while his back was turned.
All there was to do was attack.
The Wakandan ship was invisible, but the interior was not. One of Zemo's men spotted the straight gaping hole in the sky and pointed it out; no sooner had the team jumped out were they fired upon.
Steve was first; shield up, protecting himself from the bullets and drawing as much firepower as he could so the others could exit safely; the Wakandan ship kept moving, Okoye deftly circulating around the Arc and depositing the rest of the team one by one; the next was T'Challa, his armor withstanding the bullets even better than Steve's shield. Sharon and Ayo onto the top of the Arc, with Natasha roping down the side. By that point, the ship was on the other side of the Arc, out of view; Steve didn't see where Bucky had landed.
The Madbomb's shriek was horrendous; it was all Steve could hear, even with the earpiece directly in his ear, he could barely understand what everyone else was saying. No doubt things were happening; but until the weapon was disabled, he just had to hope everyone was operating as planned.
The sound was nearly debilitating even without the bracelets; but even as Steve forced himself forward, one foot in front of the other, until he was walking, running, charging — each movement felt like pain, but it was better than losing his mind entirely.
"I've got incoming!" Sam's voice rang through the din, cutting through in the only words Steve could catch in the moment. "Helicopters with firepower. Definitely not a friendly!"
Steve glanced up, and saw Sam's agile form swooping between several helicopters that hovered above the scene. Distant gunfire echoed above. They were black, unmarked aircraft — had to be Zemo's as well. There were other helicopters already coming in from other directions, but painted in other colors, with what appeared to be news logos on the side.
With a sick feeling, Steve realized not only how expertly comprehensive Zemo had been, taking control of the area, but how wicked he was in maintaining it. To not only maximize the damage, but to prevent anyone from helping — or even reporting on the event — for as long as possible.
There were two dozen men, easy, guarding Zemo. He had not taken any chances with his defense, it appeared. A group of six had formed a wall and faced him, firing a united volley of bullets.
Steve hit them head-on.
The two he collided with directly flew back; the group broke apart like a line of bowling pins, shouting, weapons flying.
But Steve had no chance of approaching the Arc before a man in a tweed suit launched at him, teeth snapping at his throat.
The man's weight was nothing really; aside from his initial surprise, the panic, Steve had thrown the man off easily. But it nearly unbalanced him, and Steve had completely forgotten his earlier directive to be gentle with the crazed civilians. The man hit the ground hard, rolling, but got up like he sustained no injury at all — and ran off in a random direction, having already forgotten Steve was even there.
It occurred to him, briefly, that Zemo's guard wasn't here for them; no, they were to protect him from his own weapon. From the people he enraged, from attacking them. Steve watched as one of Zemo's men fired not at any of the Avengers, but at a group of rabid civilians who tried to get too close.
All around him, screaming.
Steve shook his head and soldiered on, his fist striking a HYDRA agent that tried to bum rush him. Another, to his right, tried to flank, but an expert toss of his shield that bounced off a statue (and maybe took off a bit of Napoleon's face), struck the agent from behind and took him down before he had a chance of reaching Steve.
He was on the west side; T'Challa took the north side. Steve thought he could hear Bucky on the other side, that click and whir of that metal arm beneath the cacophony.
And there, less than fifty feet away, stood Zemo, Madbomb in hand. Their eyes met across the space, and Zemo smiled.
Steve started to charge.
A bullet struck the marble near his ear. Steve didn't see where it had come from — the pavement was clear to his left, only the wide open street, the distant line of buildings.
"Sniper!" Steve called out, as he ducked around the corner behind cover. "West side!"
"It's Mia!" Bucky's voice rang through the comms, at the same time as the thought had occurred to Steve. "She's not here!"
Clever, he thought, for Zemo to put her on a distant point.
"I can go after her, Captain," T'Challa offered through the din of noise. "Her bullets will never harm me."
"No!" Bucky shouted before Steve had a chance to respond.
And Steve was inclined to agree, though for different reasons. Not because he thought only Bucky should handle her (which was partially true), but also: "No, we need you here. We have no control over this situation and — well, we know where she is. She's — she's safe over there."
Until they had the opportunity to send someone over,
"I see her!" Sam added, and Steve saw the winged shadow swooping across the ground, a distant shriek of wind overhead. "She's inside one of the buildings, I won't be able to reach her. But I can block her line of sight!"
That, apparently, meant striking the building's facade, causing it to crumble and drop over the window Mia must have been firing from.
It wouldn't stop her forever, but it would give them some breathing room.
"You look a little overwhelmed, Captain," a voice called over the din. Steve peered around the corner, feeling safe enough to do so now that Mia was no longer firing upon them. Zemo still stood in the same spot, utterly unflappable. He grinned at Steve, as if this were all a show. "
"You're surrounded!" Steve said, and he wasn't exactly wrong. Zemo's men were dwindling, through a combination of the Avengers and the maddened civilians. Even if Zemo tried to run, he was out in the open. The crashed cars all around them would prevent any escape in a vehicle. The entire city would already be on lockdown. "You have nowhere to go!"
"And yet I hold all the power!" Zemo replied, and there was some truth to that. As limited as his men were, the crazed people just kept coming.
Steve had to toss one off his back, then another. Like a horde of zombies from one of those movies he'd watched with the kids months ago, only somehow worse, and so much more frightening. It would have been so simple to just shoot at Zemo — which Bucky was certainly trying to do, one of the few with a gun — but the crowd of people was too thick. Steve wasn't sure where they were even coming from at first.
"I can't get a clear shot!" Bucky called. "There's too many of them! I can pull back, find a better vantage point —"
"No! We need crowd control!" Steve said, wincing as a woman's teeth came narrowly close to taking off his ear before he hit her with a tranquilizer. To his right, he spotted Natasha taking down a pair of civilians with taser discs. It looked painful, but the end result was less harmful than had they been allowed to continue. But even with their limited supply of non lethal tools, there was no way they could stop the onslaught.
Bucky took a chance, fired a bullet, but it winged off the shoulder of a civilian, who dropped feet away from a victorious Zemo, who laughed at the display.
"There's too many!" Natasha shouted. A thrown grenade that unleashed a stunning electrical coil took down a group of people, but still more took their place.
There had to be over a hundred people here now, raving to and fro. They attacked each other as much as they were attacking the Avengers, and Zemo's men. Most had already been here, tourists already here around the Arc. Others came from the surrounding vehicles.
A helicopter crashed down. Another. Alone, that would be terrifying, but amidst all this chaos, it barely registered on Steve's radar.
Above, Sharon reported they had the Arc roof contained, having distributed enough bracelets and rendered unconscious anyone else — but then an influx from the elevator caught her off guard.
Of course, how could he forget? The tunnel.
"They're coming from below!" Steve shouted, just as it occurred to him. He couldn't imagine how terrifying it must be, trapped below the street in a windowless tunnel. But whatever civilians were down there, their animal instincts to escape were only putting them in further danger. "Keep them from getting up here!"
The tunnel allowed safe and easy pedestrian egress across the great star-like intersection of the Place Charles De Gaulle. With such heavy traffic around the rotary, crosswalks weren't exactly feasible or particularly efficient, so people moved underground to get to the Arc. The tunnels weren't small, but with enough people, Steve imagined it could become packed and suffocating easily.
There was only one entrance to the street, at least. T'Challa directed Ayo to follow him as they raced down to cut off access. "Not everyone is affected down here, Captain! We'll neutralize what we can, send the rest away."
The other end of the tunnel was far enough away to remain unaffected by the Madbomb. A small mercy.
And Zemo wasn't done yet, either.
When Steve finally saw an opening, he charged again. Shield up, to knock away any maddened person, deciding just to use sheer force of strength to bum rush it, damn the consequences. At this point, Steve had to settle with bruising some people just for the chance to get this madness to stop.
"Steve, watch out!" Sam called overhead.
Zemo saw him coming. Turned, smiled, just as the grill of a massive vehicle burst through the crowd to his right and struck Steve head on.
The impact took him by surprise, knocking him — and a dozen other people who happened to be in the way — right off his feet.
Steve went flying across the pavement, colliding with something hard, metal, ringing like a gong. And very hot.
He rolled back to his feet before it could burn. That's when he realized — the flame. The memorial. The tomb.
Somewhere beneath him laid the body of the unknown soldier; a casualty of the First World War. The Great War, once. Whose to say which side the man had been on; long dead now, forever unidentified, the body represented much and more of the toll of war, and nameless dead that followed.
For all Steve knew, it could've been his own father beneath this Arc. The war that had taken the man away from him before Steve ever got to know him. The war that had changed his own life before Steve even realized it. Everything he had become, had been in the wake of this war.
The body beneath his feet.
Before him, the flame guttered. A flame that had burned uninterrupted for decades, now dimmed, askew, affected by the battle around it.
Turning, he gaped at the massive, tank-like truck that was so large and heavily-built it had plowed its way through the traffic rotary.
So that was how Zemo planned to escape.
Zemo must have known this wouldn't last forever. The rabid masses had become too thick, and he was down to half a dozen men, who closed ranks around him. They fired indiscriminately into the crowd, and suddenly it was all any of them could do to grab someone and pull them out of the line of fire, before being attacked themselves.
And perhaps Zemo saw the walls closing in. Sooner or later, they were bound to get lucky.
With Nat's help, Bucky managed to clamber up the outside of one of the arch's columns — each broad side had an elaborate statue depicting some great leader heralded by a Greek goddess — with just enough of a ledge and a high enough angle to provide a clear shot at Zemo. It was the only element of height they could achieve without leaving the arch completely.
At the same time, a bullet exploded the torso of the Roman emperor above Natasha's head, raining marble down on them. She cried out, lost her footing, and fell. Bucky's third shot went wide as he reached out to catch her before she landed into the roiling mass of bodies beneath her.
"She's back!" Natasha called. Dangling from Bucky's hand, she fired one of her pistols.
Zemo was trying to escape. But he wouldn't make it unscathed.
A bullet struck the head of one HYDRA agent. A second caught Zemo in the shoulder. The man grunted, reeled, stumbled.
The Madbomb went silent.
The sudden absence of sound rang through the air. Coupled with the sudden loss of the Madbomb's effect — all the affected civilians suddenly stopping, dropping, coming to a standstill — had a strange petrifying effect.
A second long shot pinged off Bucky's arm, the sparks causing him to flinch, and they both dropped to the ground. Nat rolled gracefully, and Bucky immediately rocked to his knees, a firing position, aiming fast. Not to kill, but close enough to ward off Mia's aim. His bullets landed near the window she fired from. Glass and limestone shattered, and the flash of her scope disappeared.
Bucky raised to his feet, looking like he was about to start running, to track her down.
But he seemed equally distracted by Zemo, who was right there, climbing into the tank truck, injured but alive.
And getting away.
"Stop him!" Steve tried charging again, but the HYDRA agent fired from an open window, forcing Steve to drop and take cover, shielding a hurt civilian lying on the pavement.
Bucky immediately whipped around and started firing, aiming for the tires. But they were thick, reinforced somehow, and the bullets didn't pierce the material as the truck's engine gunned and it started powering across the rotary.
Growing desperate, he pulled what appeared to be some kind of grenade from his belt. Damn the consequences, it seemed, anything to stop the vehicle. But the grenade, as it shot across the pavement, beneath the truck, exploded — and it kept going.
And then a streak of midnight — T'Challa racing on foot, running after the vehicle with superhuman speed, not unlike how he chased down Bucky on a motorcycle. Claws extended, the King launched himself and grappled onto the back of the vehicle.
But even the magnificent panther couldn't hang on forever. The truck plowing through the wall of cars threatened to knock him off, coupled with the HYDRA agent who appeared from the roof opening, firing directly upon him. Still T'Challa powered forward, growing farther away.
Far enough that Steve, from his position at the Arc, could see something dropping from a rooftop above, onto the top of the truck.
Mia.
He could not see the finer points of the interaction that followed — only a blur of motion.
Had he been close enough, Steve would have seen the way her appearance had startled T'Challa, how he had faltered in his attack of the gunman. Claws unsheathed, all he could do was close his fist in an aborted attack, what might have been a slashing strike was now a blunt one as Mia took the blow to the face, but remained on her feet.
Perhaps something in her boots allowed her better purchase atop the metal vehicle, because T'Challa could not knock her off, try as he might. He would have considered that some small victory, had he been able to take her down too, to fall off the vehicle with her, even if he had failed to catch Zemo. At least remove her from the man's possession.
But that was not to be.
No simple weapon could pierce T'Challa's armor. Not mere bullets, and not the knife she wielded. But the vibranium shield was a different matter.
It wouldn't cut or pierce him in any way a traditional weapon would. But it was vibranium nonetheless, and T'Challa could feel his armor giving under the force when she landed a blow across his arm and shoulder, the absorbing effects of vibranium impacting vibranium creating a painful aftershock across his bones.
Nothing broken, but his wrist ached from the initial blow that had almost knocked him off the truck when she appeared. If Mia brought the edge of the shield down hard enough, at just the right angle, she might be able to sever a limb.
His claws and blows rebounded uselessly off her shield, and T'Challa did not have the room to maneuver around her as he would have done initially. The streets of Paris were absolutely packed — traffic had come to a complete standstill for what appeared to be miles, abandoned vehicles everywhere — T'Challa was nearly knocked off again, before clinging to the side of the vehicle.
She brought the shield down across his clinging fingers. Only the armor kept T'Challa from losing them completely, but the pain was still extraordinary enough that he lost his grip, and fell to the pavement below, rolling across the tarmac.
By the time he got back to his feet, the truck was already whipping around a corner.
Mia's form standing atop, hair whipping in the wind.
"I can follow them!" Wilson said over the comms.
"Don't engage!" The Captain spoke quickly. "Just keep a trace! We'll catch up as soon as we can!"
"Roger that!"
Overhead, the winged form of the Falcon swooped overhead, a tip of his wing to acknowledge T'Challa.
T'Challa could have chased after them. But he knew the battle was lost. More importantly, he could not abandon what remained of their team.
As he raced on foot to return to the Arc, his ears were filled with an alarming call. The city was awfully quiet with all the frozen traffic, which made the growing roar of engines all the more noticeable to everyone around.
"What the hell is that?" Sharon called. "Did someone call reinforcements?"
"What's happening?" T'Challa asked, as the buildings whipped past him in a blur. Some terrible feeling told him that the fight wasn't over yet.
"I have reports of an incoming military force," Okoye said, and his eyes caught the flickering of the invisible ship rising above the rooftops once more. She had landed in order to aid with the battle, but now it seemed a third party had entered the scene. "They sound — American!"
"What?" A chorus of voices replied at once, alarmed.
And just as T'Challa came skidding to a stop beneath the Arc, he saw — the wall of cars screeching and grinding aside, or crushed beneath, the path of several great tanks — two from each street on the northern end of the Arc. Behind them, following in the path they cleared in their wake, a series of smaller, faster military vehicles rolled in, taking in what clear road they could. Sirens and klaxons rang out all around.
And above it all, a familiar voice called across the clearing, amplified a hundred times through speakers.
"This is the United States Army, under order of Secretary Ross, stand down!"
"Where the hell did he get tanks?!" Nat demanded, almost panicked, as they grouped together on the ground.
In the time that T'Challa was gone, Steve had taken control of the situation, getting the trapped civilians above to the ground floor, dragging the injured off the road, looking for anyone still alive among the bloodied pavement. There were a lot of dead here. Too much to count in one go. But there were still more alive and breathing.
"He must have been here this whole time," Sharon replied, her voice tense. There were scratches across her face, a torn shoulder from where someone had tried to wrench her arm from its socket. "Amassing resources. Maybe it was for Zemo, maybe for us, but he must have guessed there'd be another attack —"
"It definitely sounds like it's for us!" Bucky snapped.
"There's no way you guys can handle that kind of firepower," Sam called from above. "Do you want me to turn back?"
"No!" Bucky and Steve shouted at the same time. Steve continued, "Keep following Zemo! He's still our priority!"
"Suddenly the name 'Thunderbolt' Ross isn't quite so mysterious to me anymore," T'Challa remarked dryly. "I'm fascinated with how this man managed to attain his current position within your country, given his reputation."
"It's a long story," Sharon said with gritted teeth. "I don't know how he hopes to keep it up if he escalates the situation; France is going to be mad at a lot more than just Zemo after this if he keeps it up."
"We have firepower, my King," Okoye's voice hummed in their ears. "Should I provide covering fire?"
T'Challa hesitated before responding, appearing conflicted. Indeed, their small Wakandan ship could probably take on the small army of tanks. But at what cost? Steve didn't know what kind of barrage it could take, nor did he want to think about the ensuing damage and collateral damage it could cause if they decided to start firing upon the tanks.
At last, he said, "No. The damage potential is too great — too many innocent people could get hurt. Draw back, and we'll find you. We'll make our exit that way."
It appeared Ross did not see the ship; though its light-refracting panels rendered it virtually invisible, the engines could still be heard by the perceptive ear, and a sharp eye would be able to notice the way light and space seemed to bend oddly in the area around the ship. It may not hold its stealth position forever.
"Understood," Okoye replied, and the hum of its engines faded somewhere behind them.
"I repeat!" Ross ordered over the speaker system, his voice echoing from several different trucks whose sole purpose seemed to be carrying the equipment on them. "Surrender now! Come out with your hands up!"
"There's civilians here!" Steve shouted, waving his arms to indicate the huddled group. "Don't shoot!"
"Would he truly fire upon us?" T'Challa asked him in an undertone, leaning in. "Surely he is bluffing. He would not actually risk harming these innocent people."
"I don't know," Steve admitted, and he hated the sound of his voice. How uncertain his words were. How much he hated the truth, as much as he was unwilling to speak it. "But…I wouldn't put it past him."
Something deep down told him that Ross would find some way to justify whatever slaughter he might cause here. Acceptable casualties, if they refused to surrender. Maybe even pass off the harm to Zemo, who was already gone.
And getting further and further away by the minute.
"This is your last chance!" Ross' voice echoed through the air.
"Get the civilians to the underground tunnel," Steve spoke low into his earpiece. Short of just running across the street, the only safe way to evacuate them was to the tunnels below the Arc.
"On it," Sharon's response was immediate. She pulled back and gestured to those around them, urging everyone to stay low and follow her. But that was only those that could still move. There were still more that were injured, those that needed immediate medical aid.
Steve looked to the tanks that now surrounded the Arc. Then to Bucky. To everyone around him.
He was exhausted. His body ached, skin red and raw in places where he'd been attacked. Blood splattered across his suit in a morbid pattern. The others didn't look much better. Bucky's metal arm had a streak of soot and ash. Natasha was still catching her breath. T'Challa's suit appeared to have actually taken some damage, gloves flickering oddly.
But they did not waver.
His team, and the scared people, broken and bleeding and cowering behind the walls, confused and terrified.
Back to the team. "On ne passe pas."
None shall pass. They would hold the line. Together. To capitulate now would be to lose the battle, if not the war.
He watched, gut sinking, as the first tank level its cannon at them.
Right before a blast from the sky knocked it aside.
Steve looked up in shock.
A flying Iron Man suit — Tony? No, it couldn't be possible —
And it wasn't. Almost right away, Steve could tell the suit was too small, not Tony himself. It was silver, appearing unadorned, with a set of blue eyes and its arc reactor in a strange circular geometric pattern; like a series of small interlinked flowers or star shapes. It reminded Steve of a stained glass window, of a church rosette.
And Steve's mind couldn't compute, was this one of his drones? But Tony didn't have those anymore, he got rid of them, and besides, how would he even be able to operate one if he was still in the Raft…?
The suit landed, arms raised, and symmetrical repulsor blasts to either side struck Army jeeps on either side, blowing their engines.
Steve had barely opened his mouth to even exclaim in shock before a streak of silver flashed in front of him, so fast the slipstream ripped the air from his lungs. In a blink of an eye, it flashed across the Army line. In quick succession, all the wheeled vehicles suddenly dropped, their tires slashed inexplicably all at once. Alarmed shouts started to rise from the opposite end of the line.
Someone must have panicked. One of the tanks fired.
A cry rose up, screams — only to drop away, shocked, when the shell never landed.
Instead, it struck a glittering red wall that had suddenly appeared, as if by magic. The shell exploded harmlessly before it ever reached them.
Steve heard the distant clank of another tank loading a shell, only for a sudden beam of golden light to shear across the air — and everyone watched, with gaping mouths, as one by one the tank's cannons dropped to the ground, severed from their mounts. Each one crashed with a mighty crack of concrete beneath.
Ross' men responded quickly — abandoning their vehicles, jumping out with what firearms they had. But they barely had time to take formation before a skinny bright form swung across the rotary, whooping with unrestrained glee; and a dozen soldiers were suddenly empty-handed, in shock, as their weapons were ripped from their arms and strung up high from lampposts, on a series of webbing.
The other dozen, disarmed just as easily by that silver streak, slamming into them at full speed and stealing their weapons before they had time to blink.
A series of rifles clattered at Steve's feet, and when he looked up, Pietro was standing here; windswept pale hair, self-satisfied grin on his face.
Steve knew exactly what the kid was about to say right before he opened his mouth. "Don't."
The speedster hopped back, unable to contain his smugness. "Don't what? You didn't see that coming?"
Behind Steve, someone made a sound of annoyance. He didn't turn to look for who it was.
Before him, three forms dropped from the sky, on either side of the small Iron Man suit — the Scarlet Witch, a young caped Vision, and what could only be Spider-Man in a suit Steve had never seen before. Not the improvised pajamas he'd seen before, but a fresh, form-fitting suit, a masked face that did little to hide the excitement underneath.
Next to Quicksilver, the mask of the Iron Man suit slid up, revealing the slightly puffy-eyed face of Howie.
And in a voice slightly thickened by a waning cold, he said, "We're here to help."
All five of them, standing before the Avengers, fresh-faced and ready to fight.
A new set of heroes had arrived.