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buck-buck-boose · 3 years

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I'll Love You 'Til I Die

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Summary: A Brooklyn schoolgirl fell in love with James Buchanan Barnes at the tender age of nine. With this love she made a vow, promising to love him until her very last breath.

Pairing: Bucky x OFC

Warnings: Language, violence

Word Count: 4.3k

Author's Note: I am... so sorry for taking so long. I was not expecting the start of the semester to be so hectic. I can't promise I'll go back to posting as regularly as during the summer, but I can promise that I'm not disappearing. I promise. I WILL SEE THIS FANFIC THROUGH EVEN IF IT KILLS ME. Thank you for the kind words and support while I've been MIA. Enjoy a chunky chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Little Saint Lottie

October 27, 1943

“I’m worried about her, Betty.”

“I know, Gladys. I know.”

Lottie couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten a full night’s rest. Days seemed to bleed into each other, with no slumber to distinguish today from tomorrow. It wasn’t long after arriving at Azzano that she realized that he wasn’t waiting for her. Bucky was gone. In his place, dozens of men awaited her arrival with sunken eyes and twitching lips that begged for relief, whether it be through a healing touch or a final blow to the head.

When the realization hit Lottie, there wasn’t much she could do besides throwing herself into her work; if she couldn’t help Bucky, the least she could do was help his brothers in arms. Although anxiety ate her up from the inside out, Lottie had confidence in Bucky’s abilities. He wouldn’t let himself die in some POW camp, he just wouldn’t. Because then who would take care of her and Steve? He’d fight tooth and nail to get back to them, she just knew it.

She threw herself into her work, rarely stopping long enough to have a proper conversation or a full meal; this bad habit of hers came to a halt, though, when she came upon a boisterous redhead in need of stitches. Lottie had been deep in thought while examining the gash above his forehead when the soldier cracked a grin and peered up at her without moving his head too much.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

Lottie shook her head, “I’m afraid not, Private—” she glanced at his dog tags, “—O’Connor.”

“Ever done pinup? Maybe I know you from one of those cheesecakes we’ve got hanging up.” The man— more of a boy really, with his lanky frame and jovial smile —wiggled his eyebrows and ruined her diligent work of cleaning the blood from his wound.

The question left Lottie flustered; the idea of dozens of men gawking at her scantily clad figure left her feeling mortified, “Certainly not! I find that my talents are better suited for healing.”

O’Connor nodded and inspected her face carefully as she went to work on his gash once more. “I’ve got it!” Lottie nearly jumped away from him when he clapped his hands together, “You’re Little Saint Lottie, in the flesh!” The boy crowed his revelation, earning him glares from the other men recovering in the medic tent.

Lottie nearly dropped the needle that she’d been preparing to thread, “Excuse me?”

“Ah, it’s a funny story,” O’Connor chuckled, “Y’see, Sarge had this little photo he’d take everywhere. Always had it in his pocket, tucked in his helmet, you name it. Wouldn’t let the damn thing go. Anyway, we stole it out of his fatigues one day while he was cleaning up in some river ‘cause we wanted to see what the big deal was. Once we saw it was some dame—” Lottie shot him a look, “—lady, we started yanking his chain about it. He was just about as obsessed with that photo as my Ma is with her holy cards, so when he finally told us your name, we dubbed you ‘Little Saint Lottie,’ patron saint of the one hundred and seventh. That kinda pissed him off, but it’s not like you’re his girl, y’know? Though he sure acted like you were.”

Lottie was speechless. About halfway through his story, her mouth had dropped open and her hands had fallen to her lap. Here she was, looking dumb as an ox, while the soldier in front of her chuckled with childish glee.

“Me and the guys would even ask for your intercession whenever the chaplain came by to pray with us. Poor guy had no clue which saint we were talkin’ about. We tried to give it a place of honor in the tent but Sarge made us run laps when he found out we’d nicked it again.”

O’Connor nearly doubled over in laughter as he watched Lottie’s expression grow in horror. “Well as I’m sure Bucky— Sergeant Barnes has told you, I’m no saint. I’m just a nurse. Now hold still, unless you want these stitches to be more painful than they already are.” Before she could stop herself, the question came tumbling out of her mouth, “Speaking of Sergeant Barnes, do you know—” she fumbled with the needle as she made the first stitch, “—is he alright? Did you see him?” The soldier let out a hiss of pain, “Yeah, I got a glimpse of him while they were takin’ him away. He was battered but alright. There’s no man quite like Sarge, I know he’ll be back. He’d fight tooth and nail to get back. That’s what he said at least, ‘cause he always went on and on about how you needed him and all that. He sure talked about you an awful lot for a guy who hasn’t even asked you to go steady.”

Lottie’s breath hitched at the final comment, the mere idea of going steady with Bucky reducing her to a stuttering schoolgirl. She began to tie off his stitches, “We’ve been best friends for over a decade, it’s perfectly normal to care for each other deeply without bringing affection into it.”

O’Connor shrugged, which jostled her arm slightly, “I’ve never heard a guy talk about his best friend like that.”

Lottie didn’t respond. She gave his fully sutured wound one last glance, “Looks like you’re all set. Now don’t do anything stupid to get it infected.”

He gave her a crooked grin and wiggled his eyebrows, Lottie nearly scolded him but held her tongue, “As you wish, Saint Lottie.”

Lottie rolled her eyes and moved along to the next bed, where another soldier waited with a smile just as wide. It seemed that these men had become pleased as punch to know their patroness had come to grace them with her presence.

The USO’s visit to their camp took Lottie completely by surprise. She’d spent so much time floating from one medic tent to the next that she’d ended up completely out of the loop of the camp’s other goings-on. It wasn’t until she saw the fully-erected stage in the middle of camp that she realized. Her heart beat powerfully within her; with Steve here, she would be one step closer to finding Bucky. One step closer to bringing him home. “They say he’s gonna be here in a few hours,” Mary beamed, obviously giddy to see the Star-Spangled Man up close and in the flesh.

Lottie returned her smile, though it was weak. The weariness was starting to catch up to her, making her feel much older than a youthful twenty-three. Her stomach was in knots with anxiety; she needed to get to Steve as soon as possible.

Betty stood with them as they watched the hustle and bustle of preparations, “I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones looking forward to seeing Captain America. All these boys care about is seeing a bunch of girls dancing for them on stage, not some hunk of meat in a red, white, and blue suit.”

Nancy, who had just joined the conversation, scoffed, “It’s quite disappointing how little you think of these men and their patriotism.”

Gladys rolled her eyes, “They’re still men, Nancy. Scantily clad women or a guy singing about war bonds? They’re gonna prefer the women.”

Several hours later, Gladys was indeed proven right. Although he’d been driven off-stage with jeers and taunts, Lottie was waiting for him with a warm embrace.

“Hey, Lottie,” She could hear the smile in his voice, she felt its warm timbre as it surrounded her and reminded her of home.

“Good to see ya, Stevie.”

Steve pulled away from her and gazed around the camp, a grimace growing on his features, “Things don’t look to good around here.”

Lottie nodded, a twin grimace gracing her lips, “The hundred and seventh started out with two hundred men. Now they’ve only got fifty left. They’re barely holding on.”

Steve’s gaze shot to hers the moment she mentioned the one hundred and seventh, “Lottie that’s— this is Bucky’s—” The desperate look in his eyes made her own calm exterior begin to crack.

“Stevie, I know,” she whispered, a lump forming in her throat and tears pricking at her eyes, “I know, and I’m sorry. He’s not here. They— Those bastards took him, damn them!” For the first time since arriving at camp, Lottie cried. She sobbed and clung to Steve once more, feeling every bit like a scared little girl from days gone by.

Steve rested his hand against her back, “I’ll get him out, Lottie. He’s gotta be alive and I’ll get him out.”

She shook her head and wiped the hot tears from her cheeks, “No, Steve. You’re not going alone. I’m coming with you.”

“Lottie, you know I can’t put you in harm’s way like that—”

“Steve. I’m serious. What do you think I was doing that whole time I was with the SSR? Yes, we were making the serum, but they nearly trained us to death. I can shoot, I can use my knife. I can’t let you go without me.” Her voice was starting to crack, “We have to find Bucky together.”

There was silence between the two of them until Steve finally conceded, a wary gaze in his eyes, “Fine. But you need to be by my side the whole time.” Lottie nodded her chest warming with hope. “C’mon, we need to have a conversation with Colonel Philipps.”

The two of them jogged to his tent with their coats held above their heads to shield them from a sudden shower of rain. They entered the colonel’s tent, looking comical with their wet hair and heaving chests. Around them, soldiers and officials paced to and fro, examining maps or signing off various forms. If Lottie squinted, she could just barely make out the words. Letters of condolences; heartbreakingly clinical letters of regret for the losses of these sons, these brothers, these boys.

“Colonel Phillips,” Steve began, “Are you planning a rescue mission? For the surviving prisoners from the Battle of Azzano?”

The colonel looked back at him with a straight face, “Yeah, it’s called winning the war.”

Steve’s blond eyebrows furrowed, “But if you know where they are why not at least—”

“They’re thirty miles behind the lines. Through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We’d lose more men than we’d save, but I don’t expect you to understand that because you’re a chorus girl,” before Lottie could protest, he shot her a glance as well, “and you’re just a nurse.”

Steve’s gaze on Colonel Phillips was cool, “I think I understand just fine.”

The colonel pushed past them, “Well then understand it somewhere else. Now if I read the posters correctly, you’ve got someplace to be in thirty minutes.”

“Yes sir, I do.”

Steve grabbed Lottie’s hand and pulled her behind him, “C’mon, we’ve gotta get going. You go get changed.”

Lottie nodded; her medical uniform would impede this mission so she’d need to wear the fatigues that the government had finally issued to them. Her heart raced a mile a minute as she scrambled back to the nurse’s tent to change. She knew that Colonel Philipps would be terribly angry once he found out she’d shirked her night duties, but her loyalties to Bucky took precedence. The recovering soldiers were left in the capable hands of her peers. She swore as she nearly toppled over while yanking her boots on; it was rather hard to get dressed in such a hurry. By the time she was ready and had exited the tent, she was met with the somber faces of Agent Carter and Steve.

“Agent Carter, what are you doing?” For a moment, she feared that they’d already been caught, that the SSR was already putting an end to their mission.

The other woman pursed her lips, “I’m here to help.”

A mere half-hour later and they found themselves in the SSR’s plane, headed to Krausberg, where the POW camp was located. Howard Stark called out to them from the cockpit, “We should be able to drop you right at their doorstep.”

Fear was starting to creep into Lottie’s mind and burrowed itself deep within her gut. She heard the conversation continue all around her, but she was still processing the daunting mission before her. She and Steve up against Hydra. All alone. Even Bucky had struggled against them; he’d lost to them in the Battle of Azzano. Bucky. That’s what worried her most. It’s what filled her with the most fear. If she and Steve got through the Hydra camp safe and sound only to find that he was dead, Lottie wasn’t sure how she’d deal with it. She’d probably go mad, in all honesty. She’d end up in some institution, crying over lucky pennies and charcoal drawings while being molly-coddled by some woman in white. How tragic that would be.

Before her thoughts could become any darker, Lottie was jolted back to reality by the sound of bullets against metal. Steve grabbed his shield and her arm, urging her to join him by the plane’s exit.

Agent Carter shot up from her seat, “Get back here! We’re taking you all the way in!”

He turned to respond, “As soon as I’m clear, you turn this thing around and get the hell out of here!” “You can’t give me orders!”

A smile grew on his face, “The hell I can’t! I’m a captain!”

Steve shifted his goggles and nudged Lottie, “It’s go time. When you see me pull the chute out, you do the same.”

Lottie nodded with a quiet determination, and together, they jumped.

Entering the base was painstakingly quiet; once they’d snuck into a truck and eliminated the guards inside, Steve and Lottie were left to mouth words and offer silent support through unwavering gazes. Once they’d safely passed the gate of the base, they exited the truck and swiftly dealt with any opposition.

Steve led her across the base with caution, giving hand signals when it was safe to turn a corner and sprint across a patch of unobstructed space. The two of them traveled with the shadows, avoiding any spotlights that could catch them in the act. Lottie scarcely felt that she could breathe, it was as if one exhale would reveal their presence to the multitude of guards.

Once they entered the main building, the two of them found themselves in what seemed to be a factory. There were giant sheets of metal everywhere and huge bombs seemed to surround them. Amongst them all, Hydra soldiers transported other metal parts and containers of glowing blue material. That did not bode well with Lottie at all.

Lottie spotted some guards walking to a lower level, jangling keys in hand. “Steve, they might be guarding the prisoners.” Her whisper was barely audible, fear keeping her from speaking any louder.

“The blueprints said they were below the manufacturing level. C’mon.”

They followed the guards onto a walkway that had large circular grates that cut into the metal, each forming the ceiling of small cells that the poor prisoners had been separated into. Lottie and Steve knocked the guards out and stole their keys. The two dropped to the same level as the cells and began unlocking their doors.

One of the soldiers gazed at them through the bars of his cell, “Who are you supposed to be?”

Steve panted from stress, “I’m Captain America.” He gave Lottie an expectant look.

“I guess I’m Little Saint Lottie,” she responded somewhat sarcastically, referencing the retrospectively comical nickname that was developed by the one hundred and seventh.

Some of the men cracked grins, “So you’ve heard our prayers, huh?”

“Loud and clear. Now let’s get you out of here, yeah?”

She tried to ignore the growing horror inside of her upon the realization that none of these men had brilliant blue eyes. Not a dimpled chin in sight.

“Is there anybody else? I’m looking for a Sergeant James Barnes.” It seemed that the same horror was growing within Steve.

A man in a scarlet beret responded, his British accent prim and proper, “There’s an isolation ward in the factory, but no one’s ever come back from it.”

“Alright,” Steve nodded, “The tree line is northwest, 80 yards past the gate. Get out fast and give ‘em hell. We’ll meet you guys out in the clearing with anyone else we find.”

“Wait, you know what you’re doing?” “Yeah. I’ve knocked out Adolf Hitler over two hundred times.”

Lottie couldn’t help but stare at Steve in amazement. Gone was that awkward boy from Brooklyn. He was a man now, a leader who could do anything he put his mind to. He’d grown so much, not just physically, but in his character.

While the prisoners worked their way out of the base, Steve and Lottie began their search for the isolation wards. Lottie tried to ignore the sounds of explosions and men crying out from below them while they traveled across metal catwalks. She could only hope that the cries of pain were coming from Hydra soldiers.

After turning several corners, they found themselves in an old hallway, surrounded by brick on both sides. They hurried down the corridor out of desperation; they knew they were running out of time. Lottie stopped suddenly when she heard a groan. It was close. She drew her weapon and dragged Steve into the room, her heart stuttering and her palms slick with sweat.

“Sergeant. Three-two-five-five-seven…” That voice. Oh, how she knew that voice; she loved it so. Lottie heard it whenever she found the time to fall asleep. It crept into her sweetest dreams but tore her apart whenever it wiggled its way into her nightmares.

Bucky lay in front of them, strapped down to a table; his lips moved ever so slightly as he repeated the same phrase over and over again.

She rushed to his side alongside Steve and nearly let out a cry of happiness. Had the situation not been so dire, she would’ve descended upon him with a bone-crushing embrace and great big sobs of joy by that point.

Lottie whispered a quiet, “Bucky?” His eyes were glazed over and his mouth agape, “Is that— is that—”

“It’s us, Buck,” Steve nodded reassuringly as he tore at the straps across Bucky’s chest. Bucky looked up at him, taking his face in,

“Us?”

“Me and Lottie,” he nodded, tugging her closer so that the two of them could be in Bucky’s field of vision.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at him, finally feeling whole again. She’d gotten her Brooklyn boys back. Bucky only looked back in confusion, “Little Lottie, she— she’s always been here. Always. Stayed with me the whole time.”

It was Lottie and Steve’s turn for confusion. Lottie brushed the hair back from his forehead to calm him down and ground him, “Bucky, I’ve been with the SSR this whole time. We’re here to rescue you.”

Steve nodded and dragged him off the table, “I thought you were dead.”

Bucky was obviously having a hard time processing everything that was happening, “I thought you were smaller.”

Lottie listened as the gunfire intensified, “Come on, we need to move.” Steve threw one of Bucky’s arms over his shoulder and the two fell into step behind her.

“What happened to you?” Bucky grunted out, pain etched into his voice.

“I joined the army.”

“Did it hurt?”

Steve was growing agitated, “A little.”

“Is it permanent?”

“So far.” Lottie huffed, “I’d sure hope so after all that effort I put into it.”

Bucky mustered out a befuddled, “Huh?”

“I helped to create the serum that made him like that.”

“So that’s why you left without saying a word.” Bucky’s tone was only slightly accusatory.

Lottie muttered a weak “Yeah.” They’d need to have a lengthier conversation once he wasn’t struggling to walk five yards.

As they crossed the catwalks to get towards the exit, the factory below them began to combust. Huge flames erupted from the metal contraptions and triggered explosions all around them. They hastily climbed the metal stairs to get to higher ground.

“Captain America, how exciting!” A thick German accent cut through the noise of explosions and gunfire. “I am a great fan of your films!” Before them stood two men; one was a short little fellow clad in a jacket and fedora. The other was tall and wore a distinguished Hydra uniform with its menacing crest emblazoned on his shoulder.

The taller of the two gave Captain America a once over as he strode across the catwalk that separated them, “So, Dr. Erskine managed it after all. Not exactly an improvement, but still, impressive.”

“You’ve got no idea,” Steve snarled and punched the man in the face. The swift blow caused a blotch of redness to appear near his eye and a sinking feeling of realization settled into Lottie’s stomach. This was Schmidt, the monster who used the serum prototype.

Before she could say anything, Schmidt struck back and left a dent in Steve’s shield, “Haven’t I?”

There was a brief scuffle before Schmidt backed off while the other man pulled a lever, pulling the catwalk apart. With a grin, Schmidt began pulling at the skin of his face and revealed fiery red muscle and tissue beneath, just as Lottie had seen when she first began experimenting with the formula. “You are deluded, Captain. You pretend to be a simple soldier, but in reality, you are just afraid to admit that we have left humanity behind. Unlike you, I embrace it proudly. Without fear!”

“Then how come you’re running?”

Steve never got an answer. Schmidt and the other man had already boarded an elevator and left them standing on the catwalk, nearly helpless.

Another explosion went off, cueing the trio to leave, “C’mon, let’s go. Up.” Lottie instructed the men to follow her, though she wasn’t too sure how to escape the factory. All she knew was that they needed to keep ascending the stairs.

When they reached the top of the stairs, they were faced with a metal beam that led to a catwalk with an exit. It was terrifyingly slim, with only enough room to place one foot in front of the other.

“Ladies first,” Bucky murmured, “but I’ll be right behind you.” Lottie felt sure of herself knowing that at least she wouldn’t have to cross on her own.

She took a tentative first step, testing how well it would hold her weight. Lottie tried not to look down at the fiery pit below while she carefully moved along the beam. It was a comfort to have Bucky behind her with his chest nearly pressed against her back as he followed her every step. Lottie had just scrambled over the railing of the catwalk when a jarring explosion shifted the beam’s position and sent it careening downwards. She gasped in horror as Bucky leaped to grab onto the catwalk.

“There’s gotta be a rope or something!”

Steve stared at the two of them from across the pit, “Just go! Get out of here!”

Bucky slammed his fist on the railing, desperation tearing at his voice, “No, not without you!”

“Steve, please! We can’t just leave you here!” Lottie pleaded. Steve couldn’t die, not like this.

With a look of determination, Steve backed up and made a running jump to clear the gap between the two catwalks. An explosion threatened to swallow him up, but he made it over safely, although a little worse for wear.

Lottie and Bucky could only stare in amazement. Steve nodded to them both, “Let’s get outta here.”

Several ladders and a whole lot of dodging later, the trio found themselves trudging towards the tree line.

It was silent amongst the three of them; painfully, dreadfully silent. She decided it was time to break the silence, “Bucky, I—”

“Look, Little Lottie, I know you’re sorry, alright? And I forgive you. Even though you lied to my face and left without saying goodbye, I had a whole lotta time to spend forgiving you.”

Now that the fear of being caught by Hydra soldiers had fully subsided, Lottie allowed herself to let out a sob of joy and nearly threw herself at Bucky. She almost apologized for the force of her embrace since it was likely to hurt a man who’d been captured by Hydra, but he didn’t show any sign of pain. She’d need to remember that for later.

“I missed you so much, Bucky. I really did,” Lottie nearly whimpered. Gosh, she sure sounded lovesick. “I missed you too, Little Lottie.” His embrace was sure and strong, and with it, a flood of memories came back to her. Nights on her fire escape. A birthday evening spent swing dancing. A lucky penny slipped into her hand. For the first time in months, Lottie finally felt whole. Her heart that had been splintered into shards of pain and hopelessness had finally begun to mend itself back together. While she found comfort in his arms and forgiveness, she knew there were still so many words left unsaid; words that he needed and deserved to hear.

“Yeah, I missed you guys too,” Steve muttered, obviously peeved that he was being left out of their moment.

“Aw, come on, Stevie,” Lottie grinned and pulled away from Bucky a little to allow Steve to join their hug.

“And if I remember correctly, Bucky, I think it’s actually Little Saint Lottie now,” she grinned. While she couldn’t see his face at the moment, she just knew it was turning a gorgeous shade of scarlet, based on the sputtering coming out of his mouth.

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lokis-army-77 · 3 years

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If You Please

Chapter eleven

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3560

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: none

Note: Honestly, this chapter reads a little weird to me but my friend who helps me edit said it was fine. IDK going from the 40s to 2012 is weird when trying to write.

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Seven months had gone by since Steve and I had been unfrozen. This new world I suddenly woke up in was exhausting. Everything had changed from the simplest thing like manners to complicated things like technology.

Days after waking up, we had been sent to a place called “The Retreat” so we could catch up on the seventy years we had missed out on. There was so much that we took to writing everything down in small notebooks, so we could remember.

I caught onto using the new technology quicker than Steve since I had worked with Howard Stark for several years. Being able to adapt to strange and new tech on the fly was a requirement when working with him.

After those few weeks there, we were both moved into two separate government apartments located in New York. I wish I could say that it got easier with time, but it didn’t. Instead of going to hang out with Steve or actually trying to make acquaintances with anyone, I just stayed in my room, locked away from everything. Coping with being in the future was the easy part, learning to live without everyone I ever knew was hard.

I hadn't known peaceful sleep in a long time. Every time I closed my eyes I am met with nightmares. The softness of the mattress had made it feel like I would fall through at any moment, back into the ice. To try and combat this I pushed my bed into the far corner of the room and made a cot directly under the frame. It felt safer to lay on the hard floor in the dark. The nightmares still came through, sometimes they were battles, sometimes they were of the plane crashing, but most of the time they were about losing Bucky. Every time I woke up in a cold sweat and never went back to bed. I just stared unblinking at the metal that made the bed frame.

One night after a particularly taxing dream I decided to take a walk. It was three in the morning, so I wouldn't have to deal with a lot of people. I changed out of my pajamas into some of the clothes I had been provided. The clothes of the future were tighter than in the forties. It had taken me a while to get used to the feeling of fabric clinging to my legs and upper body. The outside world was quiet except for the occasional car passing by. I kept my eyes to the ground, not really caring where I ended up. I only looked up when I was almost run over by another late-night walker. Peering from left to right, my eyes fixed on an old faded sign hanging above me. The letters were just barely readable and said in large letters ‘Boxing gym’. With another survey of the area, I realized where I was. This was the gym that Bucky used to take Steve when teaching him self-defense. I had tagged along a couple of times before I had joined the SSR, I was surprised it was still here. I smiled weakly and turned to the door. The light inside was on, it couldn’t hurt to see if they were open. The door creaked open and I slipped in quietly. The sound of someone working out came down the long brick hallway. Hesitantly I made my way to the open doors that led to the sparring room.

Stopping just past the threshold, to my surprise, I spotted Steve, who was busy punching the life out of a punching bag. I walked through the small office and around the boxing rings before I stopped again and leaned against one of the columns a few feet away from where Steve stood. I watched him for a while before he landed a hard punch on the bag and it flew off into the distance. I started clapping slowly and he turned around in shock.

“Good job, you broke the bag, but you do know you’re gonna have to pay for that right?”

“Hey kid, I haven’t seen you in a while. I came by your apartment but you didn’t answer.”

“I know Stevie, I just haven't felt up to company since we got back to New York. I hope you can forgive me.” He looked at me with sad eyes and took three long steps in my direction. His arms came out to engulf me in a hug.

“It’s okay, I understand. Promise you’ll tell me if something's wrong, okay?” I nodded into his chest and he squeezed me tighter.

“I couldn't sleep, I guess you couldn't either.”

“No, too many thoughts.” He let go of me and went to get two more punching bags. He hung them up a few feet away from one another before turning to me and asking if I wanted to join. Pretty soon we were both laughing together if it felt almost like we were back home before everything happened. That was until the same dark-skinned man from that day seven months ago showed up. I later learned he was Nick Fury, director of SHIELD.

“I’m glad to find you both here.” He stated.

“Are you here with a mission, Sir?” Steve asked.

“I am.”

“Is this to try and get us back out in the world?” I asked.

“No, I'm trying to save it.” he thrust out an open manila folder. I grabbed it slowly and brought it to where Steve and I could both look at it. The blue cube that had evaporated Johann Schmidt was in the photograph pinned to the first page. In large bold letters beside the pictures spelled out TESSERACT. We slowly walked to a nearby bench and sat down.

“That's HYDRA’s secret weapon. I thought it fell into the ocean that day,” I whispered.

“Howard fished it out of the water when they went looking for you both. He thought what we think, that this cube could be an unlimited sustainable energy source.” Fury informed us.

“Who took it from you?” Steve questioned.

“He’s called Loki, he’s not from around here. We have a lot we're gonna need to catch you both up on if you agree to help. This world has gotten stranger than you already know.”

“I doubt anything could surprise us anymore, right Stevie?”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Ten bucks says you’re both wrong.” Fury bet. We both got up from our seats and handed the file back. Steve went and grabbed another bag from the floor and I just headed straight for the door.

“There are debriefing packets at your apartments, read through them and get back to me by tomorrow afternoon. And before you leave, is there anything we should know about the tesseract?”

“You should have left it in the ocean.” Steve and I said at once before walking out of the gym. Once we were outside on the sidewalk we hugged and said our goodbyes for the moment and then went our separate ways.

The walk home felt longer than the walk to the gym, but this gave me time to think about what I wanted to do. Whether I wanted to go on this mission, or if I just wanted to lay low and live my life. By the time I walked through my front door I had almost made my decision, but I was waiting to read the file before I decided for good. With a quick look through the minimal information provided I sighed and threw the papers down onto my kitchen counter. Shaking my head I murmured to myself.

“No, I am not doing this. This cube is not worth it.” Rubbing my eyes I went back to my room and crawled under the bed, not caring that I was still in jeans and a t-shirt. I was not going to walk blindly into anything dealing with that cube again. I lost my fiance and everyone I have ever known because of that stupid blue thing, I'm not going to go anywhere near it again. I laid there quietly for a while before I eventually drifted off into a restless sleep.

The next morning I woke up with a start, almost hitting my head on the bed above me. Furious honking made its way from the street into my room. One thing I definitely missed from the past was how quiet it once was at seven a.m.

Along with the decision to not join the mission, I had also made up my mind about leaving New York. This had been a long decision in the making and the talk with Fury last night was enough to make the choice for me. I couldn't live in this city anymore. The places I used to hang out at were still here, but they had been renovated so many times that they were unrecognizable. Everywhere I turned It was like I was walking through a strange alternate reality. I saw glimpses of the past, like ghosts around every corner, it was worse when it was a place Bucky and I frequented.

When I had gotten back from the Retreat I made the mistake of going to mine and Steve’s old apartment. It had been torn down to construct a bookstore, along with several other retail shops. I broke down in the street when I saw it, waves upon waves of emotions crashed into me. All the memories I had there with Steve, mom, and Bucky had no place to live now other than in my mind. The next mistake I made was to go down the next few blocks to Bucky’s apartment he shared with his mom and sister, Rebecca. It was no longer there either, a bakery stood in its place. I turned and left before the onslaught of tears came. After that day I thought it would be best to go somewhere else, somewhere I had no memories.

I crawled out from under the bed and slowly moved to the bathroom to start getting ready for the long day to come. Once I had showered and gotten dressed I sat myself down on the living room sofa, looking wearily at the telephone on the end table. Hesitantly I picked up the receiver and dialed the number that had been in the tesseract briefing file. It rang twice before Nick Fury answered.

“Mr. Fury, I’m calling to tell you that I won’t be joining your team for whatever mission you have going on. I just want to lay low and rebuild my life and live it quietly without interruption.” I let out a long breath.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. Was really hoping to have you fight with us. If you change your mind, you know where to contact me. Goodbye Agent Rogers.” He hung up quickly after that, not giving me a chance to tell him goodbye as well. The next call was going to be the hard one, I had to tell Steve my plans. I dialed his number slowly as I raised the receiver to my ear. It didn’t even have time to get through the first ring before Steve picked up.

“Hello?” He asked on the other end.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“What’s up kid. Have you called Fury about joining the mission? I called about an hour ago letting them know I’d help.” He sounded a little enthusiastic.

“That’s actually what I’m calling about. I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this but I’m not going to help with the mission.”

“Oh,” he sounded surprised. “Why not? I thought you’d want to help get rid of that thing once and for all.”

“It’s not that, I want nothing more than for the tesseract to be gone for good. I just don’t think I can be a part of it, I don’t want this thing to take over my life if we can’t get rid of it. This brings me to another important thing I need to tell you. I can’t stay here in New York, so I’m moving to DC.” He was quiet for a while after I had said that, the only thing I could hear coming from his side was his breath. I grew more anxious by the minute waiting for him to say something.

“What do you mean you’re moving? Why can’t you stay here with me?”

“Don’t be selfish.” I snapped.

“I’m not being selfish, you are.” he raised his voice. I huffed through my nose, getting annoyed.

“I can’t stay here any longer. I have no idea what it is like for you, but for me, being in this city is torture. I see ghosts from the past every time I leave my house. I can’t go anywhere without seeing him, and every time I see him, I break down. I never got to say goodbye and that day plays over and over in my head. Steve, I’m being tormented with nightmares to the point where I have barely gotten five hours of sleep in the past week. I need to get out of here whether you like it or not.” Tears had started to stream down my face as I yelled into the phone.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have helped you, I still can help you if you let me. If you leave I can’t keep you safe, I can’t protect you like I’m supposed to.” He was using his soft “grown-up” voice he always used with me when I was younger to try and calm me down but the tears kept streaming down my cheeks at a rapid pace.

“I can protect myself, we did take the same serum,” I choked out. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to bother you with my problems, I can deal with them myself. Plus you have your own things to deal with, you don’t need to help me with mine.” My head was starting to hurt now and my cheeks and neck itched with quickly drying tears.

“Fine. The only way I will be okay with you leaving is if you promise to call me at least twice a week and you let me help you move.” I gave a strained laugh and nodded, even if he couldn't see it.

“Okay, it’s a deal. I actually already have an apartment lined up, so you can come over and help me pack everything up whenever you want to. I’m going to try and be out of New York by the end of next week.”

“I’ll be right over.” I laughed as I told him that I’d be waiting. I laid the receiver back down in its spot and stood up to go to the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror, thinking. I was glad my relationship with Steve could handle an argument, understand one another, then go right back to normal, I don’t think we would be this close if it couldn't. I blinked back a few stubborn tears and bent down to grab a rag from the sink cabinet, I dampened it in warm water then wiped the dried tears from my face. The warm water felt wonderful on my skin.

Over the next week and a half, Steve and I boxed up what few belongings I had and packed them and the furniture into a moving truck. I didn’t own a car so the moving truck would be my transportation to DC. One of the many things SHIELD had us do was take a modern driving test, which wasn’t hard, just a few more signs to remember and more gadgets in the car than there used to be, I ended up passing with flying colors.

By Friday morning we had everything ready to go. Steve would follow me on his motorcycle and I would drive the truck the whole three and a half hours to my new apartment.

We stopped several times on the way down, mainly so Steve didn’t have to sit on the bike for the whole three hours straight. We also stopped for lunch. All in all the trip took us about five hours, with traffic added. We made it to my new home just after two and we started moving my belongings in immediately.

Admittedly the apartment was way too big for just me but I liked the extra space, it was different from the tiny two-bedroom apartment I had grown up in. The first thing I made sure to unpack and put up was the bed. I still hadn't told Steve I wasn’t actually sleeping in the bed, but he didn’t need to know that. After that clothes were sorted through and put in their respective places. With our enhanced strength and stamina, we had the whole place relatively furnished in just under two hours. We stopped for dinner when everything had been brought up from the moving truck.

The day went by fast with us talking and laughing like we used to, it was a good change of pace from my usual aimlessly roaming around my apartment alone. But, all good things have to come to an end and Steve had to leave. He pulled me into a tight hug, almost crushing me, and wouldn’t let go until I pinky promised to call him several times a week. I just laughed and promised him I would. I was sad watching him walk down the hallway to the stairs.

I turned back into my apartment and closed the door, locking it behind me. I stared at the box littering the floor and decided to get to work unpacking the rest of what we hadn’t gotten earlier.

Most of my belongings I found in thrift stores and antique shops around the city. It may have been the twenty-first century now, but that wasn’t stopping me from making my home a comfortable, familiar space. If you walked in from the outside world, you would have thought you had been transported to the past with how much authentic 1940s and before things I had littered about. Some things had been saved from the apartment we lived in in the forties. I learned a few weeks before we came back from the retreat that Peggy had been the one to put everything in storage after they had failed to find Steve and me in the ice. I had gone through all of it and took out what I wanted to take with me and Steve had done the same. I was thankful Peggy had done what she did, otherwise, everything would have been lost to time.

That night as I tried to sleep, I realized it was a little easier to relax. DC was a whole lot quieter than New York, there was no honking or yelling every two seconds to keep me awake. I was left alone in almost complete silence, which for others may be worse than being bombarded with noise, but I didn’t mind. I fell asleep almost an hour after laying down for the night and had a restless sleep. I woke up many times in the night covered in sweat, but I couldn't remember the dreams, anything I could remember dissipated as soon as I opened my eyes.

I woke up again very early the next morning, the clock on my wall said it was four forty-five. It was still dark out, but I could hear birds starting to chirp. I crawled out from under the bed frame and went to put on some exercise clothes. Running always helped to clear my mind after not being able to get any sort of rest. The run itself didn’t take long, even though it was seven miles, any normal person would be exhausted but I had barely broken a sweat. I did get to see some nice places, taking a route around the zoo, to the National Cathedral, and then back around to the Dupont Circle neighborhood, where my apartment was. The sun was just starting to come up as I made my way back into my building.

Although I had just moved in the day before, I was ready to start finding some sort of job. The money SHIELD was giving me to help assimilate back into the world comfortably was appreciated, but I wanted to make my own way in life without their help. Finding a job was going to be harder than it used to be, but I did have expertise in several areas. Upon being unfrozen, along with the driving tests, SHIELD created a new resume for me. I had degrees in history pertaining to the 1940s, World War II, and several of the New Deal programs, with a specialty in the SSR. I was also given a Veteran ID, although I don’t really know how that one works because I definitely was not a part of the apparent ongoing fighting in Afghanistan. I still looked twenty-four, I doubt anyone would believe it.

Anyway, I had interviews lined up for today at the Smithsonian, and hopefully, the resume that SHIELD created and my knowledge would be enough to land a job. I had already figured that I would be volunteering at the local VFW. I knew I could find people there to relate to and hopefully be able to make some friends.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila

#james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x rogers!reader #winter solider x reader #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction

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what-is-your-plan-today · 5 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner Ch17: I'm Not Going Anywhere

Summary: Katie keeps vigil at Steve’s bedside and in full protective ‘dad’ mode, Tony engages the Stark Industry lawyers when the UN Senate comes calling. But the Winter Soldier has gone back into the shadows, taking one of Steve’s only living ties to his past with him. And no one has a clue where he’s gone...

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings:Violence, bad language words, angst and smut (NSFW) NO UNDER 18s thanks.

Tag list is open- ping me an Ask

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist

“He’s panicking…let me talk to him.” her voice was soft but full of authority.

Then a familiar hand closed over the one that he held over the mask on his face and she gently spoke to him.

“Shhhh…” her other hand ran over his forehead. “ Baby, you’re in an ambulance. Try and stay calm, ok?”

And then his eyes focused, just for a second. The panic that had hit him dissipated as her face filled his vision and he gripped her hand, not wanting her to leave him.

“I’m not going anywhere…” she said gently, “I promise.”

And he believed her. He felt himself relax and fell back against the bed and his eyes closed again, the last thing he heard and felt was her…

Steve’s hand was still tight around Katie’s when they arrived in the emergency room. She went in with the paramedics taking Steve in charge and as they escorted Steve into the operating room, the realization that she finally had to let go of him crushed her. The same doctor who had taken care of Fury and her in the warehouse approached her with a nod, and she was suddenly extremely thankful that Nick Fury had as many fingers in as many pies as he did. It was an overwhelming relief to see a face she knew she could trust.

"Miss. Stark, I need you to leave the room, please. I'll take care of him from here." He put his hand on her shoulder to support his point and dropped his voice. “I promise. Fury’s orders”

Ignoring the urge to argue she let go and took a step back, her eyes still focused on the body of Steve lying on the stretcher.

"Heart's rate climbing, doctor!" Announced one of the nurses. Katie could still see her soldier’s face disfiguring and the slight raising of his eyebrow and clench of his hand if he were trying to hold on to something. She let out a sob as she realised he was looking for her because she had left him, after promising she wouldn’t, and then the double doors of the operating room closed. Finding herself now alone and completely helpless, her limbs began to clench and she was suddenly very aware she was trembling. Then, it was as if someone had tightened a band around her chest, leaving her panting for air as her vision became more and more obscured by tears of panic. She caught herself against the nearest wall before feeling her legs give way. She managed to lift them into a bent position, before bringing her arms around them so she could hide her head on her lap as her throat felt like it had completely closed. She concentrated on Steve's images floating around her brain, his touch, his kisses, how he held her, made love to her, the feeling of his laughter, his eyes, all their moments together.

We could get married if you want…

His face as he had spoken those words, the look she hadn’t been able to place suddenly registered in her brain. He had been hopeful. She closed her eyes trying to hold on to that memory. Eventually, she felt her throat begin to open again allowing her to take a deep breath, then the tightness in her chest and lungs eased and finally her brain. The hiss of silence in her ears was replaced by the usual murmur of a hospital and she could once again feel the sensations coming back along her limbs. She loosened her arms around her legs and lifted her head to lean against the wall.

She had no idea how long she sat there. Minutes, hours…it all blurred into one as she focussed her attention on the doors he had been taken through. Eventually, her little bubble was invaded by a familiar figure hovering over her before Natasha slid to the floor, legs lying in front of her.

“Any news on how he is?" she asked.

"They're still treating him, as far as I know." Katie said, sighing impatiently and anxiously.

Natasha nodded briefly in acknowledgment before turning to look at her friend. "And you? How are you holding up?"

Katie turned to face her, but didn’t answer as Sam's familiar voice cut across the corridor.

"Katie! Natasha!" Sam hastened to join them, letting Katie take in his civilian change of clothes. He was bruised too, but overall, he looked ok. "How is he doing? Any news?"

Natasha took it upon herself to answer Sam. Meanwhile, Katie finally decided to get up from her position against the wall. The sudden movement and the long time spent in an identical position made her stagger a little. Sam hastily raised his hands to catch her.

“I brought you a change of clothes.” Nat spoke gently as she too stood up. “…but I can’t stay…I’m already being summonsed for questioning, but Hill and I are going to do our best to keep your names out of it, both of you.”

“Frankly Nat, at this moment I couldn’t give a fuck about what my name is dragged into.” Katie said, a little more harshly than she had intended. She sighed “Sorry…”

“It’s ok.” Nat said, her green eyes catching Katie’s “Look, call me as soon as there’s news.”

She nodded “Can you call Tony for me? He’s already tried ringing but I can’t bring myself to try and explain.”

“Sure.” She nodded. In a rare sign of affection she pulled Katie into a hug, before she headed off up the corridor.

“Katie…” Sam said gently “There’s a waiting room down there...”

She shook her head “No, I’m staying here…”

“Look.” Sam reasoned “You need to get a proper rest. You got shot yourself yesterday, remember? Come on, you’re no good to Steve if you aint in top fighting form.”

Katie gave in and let Sam escort her to the waiting room where the two of them sat in silence. It was around four o'clock in the afternoon, some 4 hours after they had arrived when the SHIELD doctor made an appearance. Katie was currently half-lying with her head against Sam's shoulder as Sam was changing the annoying channels of the hospital TV every ten seconds.

"Miss. Stark?”

Sam turned off the television almost immediately while Katie was already on her feet in impatience.

"Yeah?"

"Sorry it’s taken so long but there was a few complications...”

“Complications?” Katie frowned “He’s got the damned serum coursing through his DNA, it’s supposed to help him heal...” “And it did, meaning the wounds had started to heal over which caused us a bit of an issue but he’s of theatre and the surgery was a success.”

“So he’s gonna be ok?” Sam asked and the Doctor nodded.

“He lost a lot of blood but he should be fine.”

Katie let out a sob and covered her face with her hands, relief flooding every cell in her body as Sam wrapped an arm round her.

“We’ve moved him into his own room and it will be a while before he regains consciousness, how long we can’t say.” the doctor continued gently, before looking round and then back to her, his voice lowering “We have an armed guard on his door, Fury’s orders, but you two can stay with him.”

He beckoned for them to follow him through the corridors of the hospital. "He's doing very well, all things considered." He said stopping in front of a door. “He is heavily sedated to ensure he rests as he was quite agitated but now it's just a case of letting the serum work its magic.”

“Thank you…” Katie said to him before she turned to the door and a hand gently touched her arm. She looked up and did a double take as she saw Evans stood there.

“Hey Nova…”

“Evans…” she said, her voice a whisper as he pulled her into a hug. “You…”

“No, I’m not HYDRA, probably the only one in STRIKE who wasn’t.” he said, and she stepped back to look at him noticing the shiny fresh bruise adorning his right cheek and the split in his upper lip. “I swear I had no idea…it all started smelling a bit funky when they told us Cap was public enemy number one, and then when I heard his voice on that PA…I’m sorry I didn’t try to find you, help sooner…”

Katie shook her head as the ginger Texan man wiped at his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“None of us knew Paul.” she said softly, and the use of his first name made him look at her, and she was swept back into his arms again.

“How is he?” he asked as she stepped back, nodding to the room.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep ya.” he smiled and she gently squeezed his am.

“I don’t want anyone in here without my say so.” she said. Evans jerked his head to show he understood and she gave him a tight smile as she pushed the door open and stepped into the room, Sam following.

The sight in front of her made fresh tears spring into her eyes and she swallowed as she silently took in Steve's condition. He was lying, asleep, in his bed with whilst IV's and monitors recorded his vitals. He had stitches in several places on his face, nasty bruises around his left eye and jawline, and a huge swelling along the same eye that was likely to prevent him from seeing properly for a while. Overall, he was a mess.

"Katie-"

"I'm fine." she interrupted Sam quickly in a hoarse voice, slightly tinged with her desire to cry. She took a shaky breath as she could hear Steve's steady heartbeat reaching her ears. "I just need a minute."

She slowly made her way to one of the chairs by the bed, settling down without looking away from Steve as she reached up to take one of his hands. It was colder than she could ever remember him being.

"Hey, Soldier." she breathed in a shaking voice before pressing her lips to his bruised knuckles as she held his large hand in both of hers. For a moment, she thought she felt his hand contract in recognition but when she looked down he showed no signs of being awake. "I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m here, like I promised."

The next few hours Sam and Katie stayed in the room with him and eventually Katie had to concede she really needed to clean up. She looked around for the bag which Nat had brought her some clothes in and stood up, grabbing it from where it sat by the door.

“I’m need the bathroom.” she said to Sam. He nodded “I won’t be long.”

She headed down the corridor and entered the ladies restroom, leaning over the sink. She glanced at the mirror, her eyes were red, face was dirty, hands still full of Steve’s blood and she looked all in all like a right mess. She set about washing her hands, her face and anything else that she could before she stepped into a cubicle and peeled off the SHIELD cat suit she had been wearing under her Nova Suit. Dressing in the jeans and top that Nat had packed, she was also touched to the point of more tears to see she’d packed her some deodorant, a set of face wipes, dry shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste and a hairbrush. By the time Katie had finished she looked almost normal.

Katie pinged Nat a message to thank her and fill her in on the news that Steve was going to be ok and one came back almost immediately

Thank God, and you’re welcome. I just spoke to Tony. He’s on his way back from Australia as we speak, he’d already set off after seeing the news. He told me to tell you to call him, ASAP.

So she did.

“Jesus Kiddo!” he exclaimed when he answered, “I’ve been so worried…how are you? How’s Cap?”

“He’s stable…still out of it but...” she said, tears at hearing her brother’s voice trickled down her cheek.

“I’ve had Pepper call the hospital, anything you or he needs…anything…” he said gently “and she’s working to keep the press off your back.”

“Thanks. Where abouts are you?” she asked

“Approaching Singapore airspace. I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise sweetie .

“’kay…” she said gently

“Love you Kiddo, he’s strong…he’ll be fine.”

“So everyone keeps saying.” she said, the sob catching in her throat.

Tony sighed "Look, this is Rogers we’re talking about. He’s as stubborn as you are."

“I know.”

“Chin up, see you soon. Call me if there’s any news, ok?”

But there wasn’t. Katie sent Sam home in the early hours of the morning but her vigil never wavered. Doctors and nurses bustled in throughout the night. Steve’s vitals were improving but he still didn’t wake up.

It was around 10 am when Sam returned. Steve had been moved into a bigger, nicer room courtesy of Pepper’s discussions with the hospital. The new guard who had relieved Evans for a shift stopped him immediately until Katie popped her head out of the door and told him it was ok. After he had frisked Sam he walked in, holding out a bag containing a sub.

“You’re an angel.” Katie said as she tore into it, unaware how long it was since she had eaten something.

The two of them ate as they watched the news reports on the TV in the corner of the bright room. They spoke of the Helicarriers, HYDRA's plot having integrated the governmental organization as well as the impending investigation. Katie watched the footage of her and Sam whizzing around the sky, and listened as they had even rebuffed Steve's message for more effect. The attack was all the world was talking about and all the news was focused on Steve’s recovery and the repercussions of his actions.

“The identity of the Avenger Supernova has until today remained a mystery but the rumours are beginning to amass than it is none other than Katie Stark…” one of the news readers was saying “the sister of Iron Man and girlfriend of Captain America…”

Katie didn’t even flinch. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t find out anyway, as soon as those files they had dumped on the internet became common knowledge it was going to blow up, plus, it was pretty obvious now anyway. What was annoying her however, was that it was as if they blamed them, in particular Steve, for doing what was right.

4 hours later just as Sam had left again, Katie heard a commotion outside the doors to the room and she stood up.

“You know me right? Tony Stark, my sister is in there…”

“Sir, I’m under instructions not to…”

“It’s ok Davies…” Katie stepped out of the room and spoke to the guard “he’s good…”

Davies sighed “Mr Stark…I’m gonna have to search you then…” he relented.

Tony shrugged and held his arms out, once he’d been patted down he shot Davies a contemptuous look and he entered the room. No sooner had he done that Katie was in his arms, sobbing.

“Shhhhh Kiddo…” Tony gently stroked her hair as she pressed her face into his chest, his familiar aftershave and touch reminding her of all the times he’d soothed her before when she was upset.

“I’m so glad you’re here…”

Tony stepped back to look at her “Nat said you got shot.”

“I did, but I’m ok, see.” she shifted her top to show him the patch that was over her wound, which was healing well.

“Sounds like you’ve been having a bit of fun without me.” Tony sniffed, “Its ok, I’m not really hurt. Well, maybe just a little. JARVIS is in a whole heap of trouble for not telling me by the way…”

“I told him not to, you were in Australia, Tones.” Katie said gently “Besides, this was all a bit crazy. There wasn’t really time, if we had waited for you to get back it would have been too late…and you could have been in danger and…” She looked over at Steve, his face was still a mess “look at him Tony…”

Her brother placed his arm around his sister and squeezed. “He’s gonna be fine.”

Katie lay her head on Tony’s shoulders as they sat down, his hand gently stroking over her hair, not once trying to get her to leave as he knew she wouldn’t. She’d burst randomly into tears again when she’d told him her car was now buried in the wreck of the Triskelion. It was a lump of metal, not something that mattered, but Tony understood. She was letting everything out, and he simply sat with her and soothed her, informing her that the car was ready for being changed anyway.

“But I like my car.” She sniffed.

“Kiddo, it’s almost 9 years old. I got you that for your 21st.”

“And that’s why I like it.” she said.

Tony had to chuckle, that’s what she was like. Sentimental. It was the gesture behind gifts that mattered to her, not the value. He’d brought her up that way to value money, even though they had it in abundance, and he was fiercely proud of the woman she had grown to be. Humble in many ways that he wasn’t.

“You know he asked me to move in with him.” Katie spoke again, breaking the silence after a minute or so.

“Before marriage?” he teased, “Well, well, well.”

She snorted a laugh “That’s what I said. And he turned round and told me we could get married if I wanted.”

Tony stiffened slightly before he looked down at her.

“And do you want?”

She nodded “Of course I do. Only I told him to ask me again with a big diamond.” she sniffed again before sobbing “We both laughed but why did I say that? I don’t need a fucking ring, or-”

“Hey, hey…” Tony gently took her face in both his hands “You just said it yourself. You both laughed. That’s what you two do. You know each other inside out, he won’t have taken it as anything but what it was, a joke...he knows you love him. Everyone does. Frankly it’s hard not to, it’s sickening”

She gave a wet laugh and Tony wiped at her cheeks with his thumbs.

“He’s gonna move into mine.” she said, smiling, as they both settled down again, her head on his shoulder. “His place is too small and full of bullet holes and…blood.”

“Sensible” he smiled, pulling her closer.

At one point during the night Pepper called, filling them both in on the fact that Natasha was to be summonsed to the UN for a hearing and that they wanted Katie there too, her secret identity as an Avenger was well and truly busted.

“Get the lawyers onto it.” Tony said simply, glancing at Katie who was now asleep, across a makeshift bed consisting of 4 plastic chairs from around the room, head laying on his lap As his hand gently smoothed her hair, his need to protect her boiled fiercely within him. “She’s not going anywhere…certainly not yet. Oh, and I need you to get hold of Happy. I have a couple of jobs for him…

The next morning Sam arrived back at 9 am, as did Evans. Tony headed off to Katie’s apartment to check no one had been there, and to take the opportunity to get changed, cleaned up and make a few business calls, promising to bring her another change of clothes back when she declined to go with him for fear of missing Steve waking up. She had noticed that morning the bruises were starting to fade from an angry red/purple to a bluey green purple already. The doctors checking his vitals told her that his recovery was progressing rapidly as expected, but still, she wouldn’t be happy until he was conscious. She’d long since turned off the TV, the reports pissing her off so, instead Sam produced a set of speakers and plugged his Iphone in, the pair of them listening to music. Katie felt her eyes going heavy again, due to the lack of sleep, and she apologised to Sam right before she drifted under...

*****

Every single inch of Steve’s body hurt. His mouth felt like sandpaper, his head was full of cotton wool, his eyes hurt as the colours flashed in front of them. He screwed his eyes further shut against the painful light that still assaulted him through his closed eyelids. as he took a moment to breathe, steadying himself as soft music flooded his ears. It wasn’t something he had heard before but it was pleasant, soulful, jazz-like. His head stopped spinning and he felt brave enough to crack an eye open. He glanced round the room, puzzled slightly. He was in a hospital. Then he remembered. The Hellicarriers, Bucky, and the last thing he had seen before blacking out, his girl. He rememberd being very cold, and wet, but she had been there. And she still was, at the side of his bed, head laying against Sam’s shoulder.

"On your left." he managed to croak out. Katie’s head jerked up from its resting place and they both glanced over at the bed where Steve was led. He smiled groggily before his head rolled to the side, flush back against the pillow and he closed his eyes once more.

Katie jumped up, and settled on the side of his bed, gently stroking his face.

“’M so tired sweetheart…” he managed to mumble as she dropped a kiss to his forehead. He managed a small smile, but his eyes stayed shut.

“Then sleep.” she said softly, the relief flooding her system that he was with them, albeit not totally, but he was with them. She gently smoothed his hair, and kept that up until she could tell he was back asleep.

She turned to Sam who gave her a smile. “Lazy bastard.”

A few minutes later a nurse popped her head round the door. Katie smiled and told her about him waking up briefly and she nodded, checking the readings. “That’s a good sign.” she beamed, “His body will be drained, serum or no serum so him resting is part of the natural recovery process. When he comes round fully, come find me and we’ll get the doctor back.”

An hour or so later, the mood in Steve’s room was considerably lighter given his waking up before. Katie, Sam and Evans, who was leaning in the open doorway, were mid a playful discussion as to whether or not Voldemort could take Darth Vader in a fight. (Katie had started this whole thing after calling Evans “Ron Weasley with a rifle” on her way back from the bathroom) and were just about to dive into the whole schematics on Magic vs The Force when a voice spoke from the bed.

“What the hell are you 3 talking about?” Steve grumbled playfully and Katie’s head jerked up to see his eyes watching her and she was beyond happy to see they were full of their usual warmth, the warmth he had whenever he looked at her.

"Hey!" Katie breathed in relief as she stood up and moved closer to him, settling on the edge of his bed.

“Hey Doll.” he smiled as she took his hand, her fingers snaking into his. His eyes flickered to Evans, taking in the man’s various bruises and he frowned.

“Got in a bit of a fight with Rollins.” Evans drawled with a nod, and Steve let out the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. He wasn’t HYDRA. “He didn’t take kindly to me threatening to test out the whole ‘cut one head off, two more shall take its place’ theory on him.”

Steve gave a small huff of a laugh before he winced slightly at the movement and Evans nodded to him once more, before allowing the door to shut, returning to his post. Steve’s eyes fell on Sam who raised an eyebrow at him.

“You know, having a building dropped on my head wasn’t part of the job description” he said drily.

Steve’s smile spread a bit further before he gently lifted his head up off the pillow, looking around before grimacing at the throbbing that filled each bone in his body "How long was I out?"

"43 hours and 37 minutes if you don’t count the last hour you’ve been resting." Katie said gently, glancing up at the clock on the wall as she settled on the side of the bed. Ah, yes, Steve’s brain vaguely registered he’d woken up before, made some quip of some sorts… “Not that I’ve been counting…” Katie finished and he smiled again, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Which isn't that bad considering how you looked when you got here." Sam added jokingly.

"Sam." Katie reprimanded gently, looking at him.

"Alright," He relented standing from his chair and holding his hands up, with a smirk. "I'll go get that hot nurse, give you guys a minute."

"Utter dog." she said, the pair of them watching as he left the room and she turned to face Steve, tears in her eyes.

“You scared me…” she said, gently.

“Sorry.” He said, looking at her, and he was. He hated seeing her upset. There was a moment’s pause before he decided he had to know. "What happened after… did we?"

"SHIELD’s gone, Alexander Pierce is dead. Fury shot him. And as far as Hydra, everyone major that was involved at the Treskellion is either captured or dead.” she paused, not sure if she should be telling him the full scale of what had gone down. Not whilst he was still recovering.

“What is it?” he frowned and she knew she wouldn’t be able to fob him off.

“Nat dumping the files on the internet means my identity as Nova is probably blown wide open. There goes our quiet life.”

“Nothing about our life is quiet.” he said a soft chuckle rising in his chest.

She grinned “True. Gonna be a lot of other shit to mop up though, The Treskellion was the tip of the iceberg. All the main SHIELD bases fell. America, Canada, Europe.”

Steve nodded along then asked the question he was almost afraid to hear the answer to. “Any news on Bucky?

"He's gone." Katie told him sadly. “I’m sorry Steve."

She looked down at the bedsheets and Steve frowned. What did she have to be sorry for? So he asked her.

“I know how much he meant to you.” she answered. “And I think he remembered you. He pulled you out of the river, told me to get help.” she continued to explain about their short exchange on the river bank and Steve listened, unable to stop the hopeful feeling spreading in his chest. Maybe there was a chance for Bucky after all, they just needed to find him. Katie watched him, and he smiled at her.

“I’m glad you spoke to him.” he said, and then a cheeky glint flashed in his eyes “Still think all the girls in Brooklyn were dumbasses for hanging off his arm and not mine?”

She gave a bark of a laugh and leaned down towards his face, rubbing her nose against his “Always.” she whispered, before giving him a soft quick peck on the lips.

******

Tony arrived back an hour or so later. He was genuinely pleased to see Steve awake and after gently grasping the soldier’s hand between both of his in a friendly, brotherly, gesture he sat down and delivered some interesting news.

“So Goth Pirate called me.” He said, leaning back in his seat “He sounded amazingly well for a dead guy.”

“Fury called you?” Steve frowned

“Yeah. He’s laying low, you know, on account of being dead and he wants to hand control of the Avengers over to us, Cap.”

Steve frowned, before he lay his head back on his pillow. He knew the Avengers would be needed again, especially now with SHIELD gone. He turned to Tony who nodded.

“I think that’s the right thing to do, for us to take control” The billionaire spoke and Steve nodded.

“I suppose, but there’s something I gotta do first.”

“Yeah, recover.” Sam said, drawing a faint smile from Steve but Katie knew full well he didn’t mean that. He was intending to go after Bucky.

They spent the rest of the afternoon making idle chit chat with Tony, who was already planning on further renovating the tower to house the Avengers full time in the wake of Fury’s news. Steve, Katie was pleased to see, was enthusiastic about the plans and listened, looking at the various ideas Tony showed him on the tablet. However, now that Steve was awake, the nurses seemed to be a little more reluctant to allow everyone to stay and at about 6pm one of them politely suggested that Sam and Tony should be making their way home.

“You do know I’m paying for this, right?” Tony quipped at her. She shot him a look which made him visibly recoil and he turned to Katie pulling a face as he stood up.

“I’ve gotta get back to New York anyway.” He said gently, pulling his sister into a hug “lawyers to speak to…new suits to build seeing as you blew yours up…”

“I needed to send up a signal.” she shrugged as he looked at her reproachfully.

“And I gotta tidy my flat.” Sam groaned “Someone trashed it.”

“You’re welcome to stay at mine if you want, for as long as you need “ Katie said, as Steve let out a sigh and began to mumble an apology which Sam waved away.

“It’s fine man, I was thinking of moving anyway.”

“Speaking of moving…” Tony said, looking at Steve then Katie as he fished in his pockets for something “I’ve had Happy organise to clear your apartment Cap, now you two are shacking up together. He’s gonna have it sent to yours Kiddo, save you a job. Oh and I figured you might need this.” he tossed Katie a set of keys. She glanced down at them, her eyebrow raised.

“Brought over from my personal collection.” he said, looking at her and she smiled at her brother “It’s the Q5. Try not to bury this one under a sky-scraper.”

“Thank you.” she whispered, giving him another hug, slipping the keys into her pocket. “I love you Tone.”

“Obviously, because I’m the best big brother in the world…” he said, hugging her tight, and Steve nodded to him, thanking him with a look which Tony acknowledged with a sharp incline of his head in the soldiers direction.

As the two men left, Steve raised his right arm to bid them goodbye and the pair of them headed off down the corridor, chatting away animatedly. Katie watched them go before turning to Steve, who was yawning like a lion.

“You ok?” she asked.

“I just don’t remember the last time I was this tired…or in as much pain”

"Do you want me to get the nurse, up your pain relief?"

"No." he yawned again, he hated how it made the room spin "Think I'm gonna sleep."

She teased gently. “Again?”

He smiled and looked at her, he didn’t want her to go. He needed her. “Will…will you stay?” he asked, tentatively “Until I fall asleep, that is?”

“I’m not leaving you.” she said, cutting him off and dropping a kiss to his forehead as she climbed onto the bed next to him “I’ll be here when you go to sleep, and here when you wake up.”

“You don’t need to stay all night. You must be exhausted, you should go home and get some sleep.”

“I’m fine…” she said, looking at him, before her body betrayed her and she too let out a huge yawn which she tried to stifle. He raised an eyebrow.

“Please honey, you need some rest too remember?” he looked at her

“No.” she said, simply “I’m not going anywhere.”

Steve shook his head. She really was obtuse at times.

“What?”

“Nothing…” he said, laying his head back on the pillow a grin flashing across his face. “Just remembering what a stubborn, pain in the-“

“If you wanna get out of here any time soon, then I wouldn’t finish that sentence…”she said, her eyebrow raised.

“Miss Stark is that a threat?” he looked at her, a smile curling further across his face

“It’s a promise…” she said, leaning over to kiss him gently. “Now go to sleep.”

*******

Steve was discharged from the hospital the next afternoon, the doctors having no reason to keep him any longer since he healed so quickly, though a cheeky nurse did warn that it wouldn't be wise for him to engage in any strenuous activity, with a pointed look in Katie’s direction who merely rolled her eyes, a small smirk playing on her face.

They arrived back to Katie’s, no theirs, a little after 4 in the afternoon. Steve was dying for a hot shower, and a shave, despite Katie’s protests that she liked the stubble he had sprouted, and whilst he was under the scalding hot waterfall, Katie headed into the kitchen to grab a drink. As she opened the fridge for a bottle of water she wasn’t surprised it was fully stocked including a few bottles of expensive pinot grigio and some beer. There was a note stuck to one of the bottles, in Tony’s handwriting.

Couldn’t have you both coming home to an empty fridge now, could I?

Whatever it is he’s ‘got to do’, I know you’ll follow. So keep safe, stay in touch, and if you need help…you know where to find a good team.

T xxx

She read the note over again and smiled to herself. It was times like this that her brother always came through for her. She fired him a quick text message to thank him before she headed up to the bedroom to see if Steve was hungry.

“Hey love, just wanted to know…” the words died in her mouth at the sight of him, his upper body was flecked with droplets of water from the shower. The knife wound on his shoulder had faded to nothing but a fresh, pink scar and the bruises he sported were all starting to turn yellow now apart from one stubborn one on the right side of his ribcage that was still a mass of purple. But it was the round circle of scar tissue that stood out, on the left side of his lower abdomen, angry and red, where the bullet that had done the most damage had exited that caught her attention. Her mouth went dry and suddenly her eyes were misting over as it hit her exactly how close she had come to losing him. Quite simply, she wasn’t sure she could cope without him now, which scared her as she’d always been fiercely independent.

“Hey…” he said, swiftly stepping forward, his hands cupping her face as he saw her face crumple “Sweetheart, I’m fine…”

“I know, I know but…” she said, sniffing. “I almost lost you and I couldn’t bear it if that happened…”

“Well you didn’t.” he said, gently, “Gonna take more than that to get rid of me.”

His lips brushed hers, the lightest of touches but it set every single nerve end she had into over drive with desire. As her breath hitched she felt him grin against her mouth before he kissed her, slightly harder this time, parting her lips with his tongue. He pulled her close, moving his hands up to the small of her back, pressing her into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, running the fingers of one hand through his hair while the others lingered at the base of his skull, holding him to her. They stayed like that for what felt like forever, the kiss growing in intensity, hunger, until Katie felt him hard against her stomach and her face was raw from the stubble that he hadn’t shaved yet.

“The doctor said you had to take it easy…” she whispered into the space between them as they each worked to steady our breathing

“Yeah…” he said, slowly moving her backwards, "But, what do they know?”

“Ermm a lot.” she snorted.

“You need proof that I'm all healed?"

“Depends on what proof you’re talking about…” she grinned as he dropped his hands to her ass, reaching down as if to lift her but she stopped him, hands on his wrists.

“Steve, your ribs…”

“For once in your life will you shut up and just do as you’re told…” he said, looking down at her. She was about to argue, about to tell him no, but as he looked at her, his eyes alive with desire she knew it was pointless.

“Yes, Captain…” she murmured as his lips crashed onto hers, but he didn’t try and lift her again, instead he backed her up the short few strides, before the back of her knees hit the side of the bed and she dropped back onto it.

"I’ll take it easy…" he whispered as he crawled over the top of her, sliding his hand up her jersey dress and into the waistband of her leggings and knickers, slowly sinking two fingers into her warm, wet depth. She let out a soft moan, open mouth grazing his neck as he felt her clench around him. "Easy," he repeated before her mouth hungrily claimed his again. He moved his hands to reach down and they parted just long enough so he could pull her dress up over her head. His eyes automatically darted to the bullet wound on her left shoulder, that hadn’t healed half as fast as his, the stitches weren’t due out for another week

“I hate that you got hurt…” he muttered, slipping one bra strap down, then the other, before she arched her back allowing him to reach round and undo the clasp before he discarded it to the floor. His lips travelled across her collar bone and up her neck, drawing a soft groan from her lips as his stubble scraped her skin and once more his fingers claimed her. She writhed with pleasure at his strokes and he groaned gently, his lips working on the spot under her ear. He moved away for a second, to rid himself of the towel and crawled over her so that she was led flat, his hands pulling at the side of her black leggings, removing them along with her panties easily. He positioned himself over her, his tongue dipping into her mouth before he pushed into her, making her shudder slightly. His hands were on either side of her face, caressing her cheek and jaw as he kissed her again, rocking his hips as opposed to thrusting, the contact not breaking for a second. He dropped his head to her neck, his lips gently brushing her ear as he let out a groan, his hips grinding against hers.

It was soft, it was gentle, it was intimate, not rushed and she cried out his name loudly when her orgasm took her, her thighs closing around him. He was consumed completely by her, and he followed her over the edge, a loud moan rumbling in his throat. God he loved this woman with every single inch of his body.

“One day…” he mumbled, his lips brushing her ear. “I’m going to ask you properly.”

She understood what he meant. Smiling she looked at him, not a shred of hesitation on her face as her lips met his and she whispered into the kiss, “One day, I’m going to say yes.”

He couldn’t help the huge grin that spread across his face as he kissed her again, noses sliding carefully against one another to avoid aggravating any bruises before he rolled over pulling her to him, her words reverberating around his head.

I’m going to say yes.

His hand gently carded through her hair as he felt her relax into him and he dropped a kiss to the top of her head.

I’m going to say yes.

*****

The flashes of the photographers and the hustle and bustle of the audience were invasive. 4 days had passed since they had taken down SHIELD/Hydra and despite the best attempts of the lawyers that Tony had instructed on both hers and Natasha’s behalf, they had been summonsed to Capitol Hill.

What pissed Katie off the most wasn’t the attention (that she hated) it was the fact they were being held accountable when they had done the right thing. Natasha felt the same, but the pair of them remained professional and unaffected by the staging of the conference before them. They both moved to the fingerprint reader before returning to their appointed places to answer their questions. Nat’s hair was as usual smoothed and perfectly capped on her shoulders, Katie’s was twisted back in a bun. Katie's face still bore the bruises she had gotten from Rumlow, which were turning and fading and she probably could have covered them better but she’d chosen not to, simply to make a point.

“Miss Stark, you know Captain Rogers the best out of anyone in this room. Why do you believe he felt the need to take down our intelligence service?"

Katie wanted to laugh; it was such a stupid question to open with. But the serious look on his face told her he was serious.

"Taking down SHIELD was the morally right thing to do. If we hadn't stopped that launch over twenty million people would be dead." she said seriously. The congressman eyed her before jotting down something on his notepad.

The questioning continued from there. Not many people in the room were sympathetic to all that they had been through. In fact, Katie would go as far as to suggest that most were trying to find a weak spot or a way for them to trip them up. An hour in and it felt like they were going round in circles. Katie was getting pissed off. Besides her Nat shifted slightly, crossing her arms over her chest, the two women resisting the urge to look at one another.

"Why is there no news from Captain Rogers?" asked one of the men of the congress.

That was when Katie lost it. She turned to the front taking a deep breath as she looked up at the ceiling with annoyance, the eye roll she had been fighting came fully as she glanced back at the moron who had been speaking “I don't know what else to say.” she spoke, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Maybe the fact he almost died might have something to do with it. That said, I think the new rock in the middle of the Potomac speaks for him in this case."

"Perhaps he can explain to us how he hopes this country will ensure its national security because you have dismantled our intelligence services." The Congressman insisted reproachfully.

This time it was Natasha that spoke, her attitude ringing across the room, she was pissed as well.

"What information?" She asked angrily. "Hydra sold you lies."

"Lies that you took care to spread." The Congressman reminded, pointing at her with a knowing look. Natasha narrowed her lips to his allusion but it was Katie that answered, the final threads of her self-control finally snapping.

“Ste- Captain Rogers, sacrificed everything to save the lives of millions of people when he took that airship down into the ice over 70 years ago.” she leant forward “Not to mention the fact that my dad, Howard Stark, the co-founder of SHIELD also worked against Hydra in the war.” she took a breath and looked at Natasha “Agent Romanoff was almost killed by Hydra’s most deadly assassin on a mission 5 years ago. And more to the fact, 2 years ago we fought, side by side as part of the Avengers to keep the world and its people safe. And you’re seriously suggesting now that we would knowingly put those same people in danger?”

“Passionate speech Miss Stark, or should we call you Nova…” he said, making her snort and look away “And perhaps you’re right, maybe you didn’t know…but Agent Romanoff…” he turned to Natasha “It happens that a few in the commission have the feeling that, given your state of service for our country and against it, your place is more in a penitentiary than in a senatorial commission."

Katie looked at Nat who took a deep breath, clearly collecting her thoughts before answering with confidence. "You’re not gonna put me in jail." She paused for the dramatic effect before letting a small smirk curl the corner of her pink lips as she glanced at a Katie before looking at the front again "You’re not gonna put any of us in jail." She arched a mocking eyebrow as she kept eye contact with the congressman. "You know why?"

"Please enlighten us." He replied snidely.

"Because you need us." Katie answered for her. “With SHIELD gone, the world needs the Avengers more than ever.”

Natasha smiled gently and continued “Miss Stark is right. Yes, the world is vulnerable. And we're partly responsible, but we're also the most qualified to defend it. So you want to throw us in prison? Go ahead” she shrugged “You know where to find us."

With that she gently touched Katie’s shoulder and she rose gracefully from her seat, Katie following her. The pair of them turned to face the hordes of press, all of them were shoving microphones and cameras into their faces whilst they moved to the doors and pushed their way through the throng of people.

“Move aside please…” Happy was in his element, arm round Katie as he cleared a path to the SUV, where he opened the door to allow them to slide in. He pulled away from the kerb and sped off.

“We’ll head to Miss Romanoff’s first… then I’ll drop you home Kiddo.”

“Happy, what would I do without you?” Katie smiled at him. She turned to Nat who was looking out of the window.

“You ok?”

She shrugged “Could be worse.”

“So, what’s next for you?” she asked.

“Gonna take a bit of time out.” she said vaguely, shrugging “You?”

“Steve wants to track Bucky down.” Katie sighed “Although I’m not so sure it’s a good idea.”

She didn’t reply. They rode in silence until they reached her condo and Katie turned to her.

“Nat.”

She looked at Katie, her green eyes locking onto her friend’s.

“Don’t be a stranger. Come over this week, we can get takeout and make fun out of Steve, just like normal.”

She smiled and reached across the seats, giving her a hug. “I’d like that.”

****

The days following the hearing were peaceful as Steve and Katie mostly lounged at home, unpacking some of his things that Happy had sent over. They binge watched shows, cooked, went for walks and then one night Sam and Natasha dropped in for take-out and a few beers. Sam made sure he congratulated Katie and Natasha on them both basically telling the Government to kiss their asses.

“It was the best thing I’ve seen on TV in years!” he gleefully said, as Steve dropped a kiss to the side of Katie's head. In contrast, Steve had hated seeing both her and Nat getting grilled. He’d offered to go himself but both girls had insisted they could handle it, and he should keep his head down for the foreseeable. It was the one thing that Katie knew she could do to protect him.

It was as Natasha was leaving that Steve pulled her to one side and asked her if she could get any of her old contacts to dig up any information on Bucky. Katie pretended she wasn’t listening to the conversation, but she heard every word as Natasha tried to warn him that it wasn’t a good idea, but, stubborn as ever, Steve insisted so she nodded, and promised to do what she could.

And now, almost 2 weeks later, they were stood in a graveyard. Katie supposed there were stranger places to meet up with your dead-not-dead ex-boss…

“Funny, most people need a Medium or a Ouija board to speak to dead people.” Sam quipped as Fury approached them.

“I see dead people…” Katie replied in an almost perfect impression of the Kid from The Sixth Sense, causing Sam to snort and Steve to chastise the pair of them for acting like a pair of school children in a graveyard.

“Sorry Dad…” Katie rolled her eyes and he shot her a disapproving look which she met with an equally sassy one of her own, and Steve looked away before he laughed at her.

"So, you've experienced this sort of thing before." said Fury, drawing up behind the 3.

"You get used to it," said Steve, looking down at the grave stone with Fury's name on it, placed over an empty, buried coffin.

Katie slipped her hand into his, gently squeezing it.

"We've been data mining Hydra's files. Looks like a lot of rats didn't go down with the ship," said Fury, He was standing by Katie’s side, staring down at his own tombstone, with sunglasses on and a hoodie over his head and he looked up at Steve "I'm headed to Europe tonight. Wanted to ask if you'd come."

"There's something I gotta do first," Steve responded, simply.

“I assume you gotta do it too?” Fury looked at Katie. She shrugged.

"How about you, Wilson? Could use a man with your ability," said Fury, turning his gaze to Sam.

"I'm more of a soldier than a spy," responded Sam.

"Alright then," he said instead, shaking Sam's hand before going over to shake Steve's. "If anybody asks for me, tell them they can find me right here." He said shaking Katie’s hand last.

"You should be honoured," said Natasha's voice from behind the three of them, making them turn around to see her walking up to them while Fury himself was already walking away in the opposite direction. "That's about as close as he gets to saying 'thank you'."

"Not going with him?" Katie asked.

"No," she sang coming to a stop, keeping her hands behind her back.

"Not staying here," Steve concluded.

"Nah…" she drew out the reply. "I blew all my covers, I gotta go figure out a new one."

"That could take some time," Katie raised an eyebrow.

"I'm counting on it.” She smirked, turning to Steve. “That thing you asked for; called in a few favours from Kiev."

As she removed her hands from behind her back, she revealed a brown folder, which Steve took staring down at it with a contemplative expression.

"Be careful Steve," she added, repeating her warning and he looked at her, nodding. "You may not want to pull on that thread."

"Take care of yourself." Katie said, looking at her, before giving her a quick hug. "I think I'm going to miss you, just a little bit."

"Only a little?" Natasha teased right back. "I'll miss you too."

She turned to leave and Katie gently reached over to tilt the file down so she could see it, wincing at the photo of Bucky in some kind of cryo-stasis. Steve looked at her, his eyes giving away his sadness and she gently ran her hand up his arm.

“I’m not sure I want you involved in this.” he looked down at her and she rolled her eyes.

“We live together you ass.” she said sternly “And we’re in this now, the both of us. I’m not going anywhere.”

She felt like she had been saying that a lot recently, and she had. But she wanted him to understand, nothing that happened could and would ever tear them apart.

As Sam approached Steve closed the folder, but the man had already seen it. He shot a look up to the sky, his eyes locking on Katie’s and she gave him a quick look which was almost sympathetic as she registered Sam’s frustration. It didn’t go unnoticed by Steve either, he knew this could be opening a whole can of worms, or a ‘bucket of vipers’ as Katie had said the other night, but he had to try. He owed it to Bucky.

"You're going after him aren’t you?" Sam asked.

"You don't have to come with us." Steve responded

“I know.” Sam said, before a smirk crossed his face. "When do we start?"

Tags

@the-omni-princess

@momobaby227

@geekofmanythings16

#steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x oc #steve rogers #captain america #tony stark #iron man #sam wilson #falcon #natasha romanoff #black widow #nick fury #avengers #avengers fanfiction #mcu #mcu fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfiction #fancfiction #fanfic

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ostrich-on-a-rampage-blog · 7 years

Note

I'm really interested in the Spot and Crutchie headcanons!! Do you mind explaining it?

Okay, you asked for an explanation and I gave you quite the l o n g fic. So, brace yourself. I initially tried to do those bullet points thingies that people do and are so fun and I just couldn’t. So, here we go. An 11K masterpiece. (This was 24 pages in Google Docs…) I really love this headcanon–if you couldn’t tell–so if anyone wants to send in prompts for different fics about these guys as brothers or just wants to talk about it PLEASE DO. I mean, clearly, there are so many more moments between theses boys and their brotherhood that can be explored. So, if you have any ideas or prompts for anything like that, send them my way! Anyway, without further ado, this fic…

Before they were Spot Conlon and Crutchie Morris, they were Sean and Charlie Morris. Only two years apart, Charlie adored his elder brother and followed him everywhere. Sean–forever fearless–dashed through streets, explored alleys, climbed trees, scaled buildings, nicked apples from the grocer down the street. And, his constant shadow: Charlie. The pair of them were practically inseparable.

And, they were happy.

As Spot would later think: Their happiness could never have lasted; Fate was too cruel to allow that.

As Crutchie would later explain: It was all an accident, a misunderstanding that blew out of proportion. Words and actions that couldn’t be taken back.

(As Crutchie would never say, but would forever believe: It was all his fault.)

Sean and Charlie’s parents weren’t exactly attentive. This hadn’t been much of a problem, as Sean and Charlie were constantly dashing around the City, exploring and playing. Then, it changed. Sean got caught stealing an apple tart. Or, rather, Charlie got caught, but Sean took the blame.

Suddenly, their father was far too attentive. He shouted and raged and threatened and–

He hit them.

Charlie was so young–only six. He didn’t fully understand why his father’s belt now glinted dangerously, didn’t understand why his father kept yelling at Sean, kept hurting Sean. Charlie did, though, connect the events. He had gotten caught with the tart. Sean had taken the blame. Their father now hurt them. It was Charlie’s fault that this all begun occurring.

Some nights, everything seemed normal. Sean and Charlie would sit in their room, laughing, playing a card game. Their father would leave them alone. The small apartment permeated an uneasy facade of safety. They were fine; they were family.

Other nights, though, the illusion shattered with the heady scent of alcohol. Sean and Charlie would hide, crouched together under the bed, squeezed into the back of the closet. Charlie would shake and Sean would whisper that it would be okay–that he wouldn’t allow their father to hurt him.

Their father found them.

Those nights ended with Sean and Charlie curling up together in their shared bed, bruises shadowy in the darkness. Sean wouldn’t speak, those nights. He would only pull Charlie a little closer and stare out the window, his eyes dull with memories.

And, it never seemed to stop.

Charlie tried to apologize to Sean one night, but his older brother only shook his head, lips pressed tightly together. When Charlie kept pressing the issue, Sean hissed, “Just shut up, Charlie.”

Sean was… different after that night. He stopped talking to Charlie, started slipping away from Charlie and disappearing for hours on end. Charlie would sit in their small, shared room, pressing at day-old bruises and waiting for his brother to return.

Then, only a week before Sean’s ninth birthday, he left.

Charlie stayed up all night, but Sean never returned. He didn’t come back the night after, or the night after that. Their parents noticed and their father raged once more.

This time, though, Charlie understood.

He understood that if he hadn’t been caught, their father wouldn’t have hurt them. He understood that if he hadn’t been caught, Sean wouldn’t have left him. Charlie spent dreary afternoons, gazing out the window and wishing to see his brother’s familiar grinning face pop up, and gesture for his younger brother to run off with him. Charlie knew it was just a dream; he never expected his brother to forgive him, after everything that had happened.

Their father kept saying that Sean was dead, but Charlie refused to believe it. He knew that, as the weeks and months passed, the odds of his brother returning, alive and well, slimmed. However, he could not relinquish that small nugget of hope, the dream that he clutched to on the darkest, most painful nights. He would squeeze his eyes shut and pretend that, any moment now, Sean would return and wipe the tears from his eyes.

That dream never came true.

The following winter, the polio struck.

While feverish, Charlie only cried out for Sean. All he ever wanted, in those moments, was his elder brother to return to him. His father demanded silence, and Charlie rolled over, wishing for a brother that he never expected to find again. Or, if he couldn’t have Sean in this life, let him have his brother back in the next. After months of no contact, Charlie knew that his brother could no longer be alive–there was no way that Sean would just leave him here to die a slow, agonizing death at the hands of their father, if he still lived. Charlie, now, just wished to join him. Be free of the pain, free of the man called father. Be free of a dark world without a brother.

Charlie closed his eyes and never planned to open them again.

But, he convalesced. It was slow, and it was painful. His mother, during the illness, had walked out–leaving child alone with heartless father. Charlie understood, the knowledge weighing heavily in his heart. Not only had he driven his brother away, but now he had driven his mother to leave. His father blamed him, and Crutchie accepted the blame, hanging his head. He accepted the physical, the emotional abuse. He thought, after everything, it was his duty to take the punishment.

He no longer dreamed of a brother sweeping in to save him.

Days grew monotonous–hours stretched into eons. His father worked, so Charlie would have the house to himself. He found himself staring out the window and watching the passersby that never noticed him. Some days, Charlie would imagine that he would catch a glimpse of Sean outside. It never was his brother.

His father would come home at five, each night. Some days, he would ignore Charlie, leaving the eight year old to fend for himself in regards to food. Those were the days Charlie liked best. Others, he would come home in a rage and shout and scream biting truths.

Charlie could never quite get those words out of his head.

It got to be too much, one day. He got sick again and, rather than worry about caring for the child, his father tossed him to the street. It was only two days before Charlie’s ninth birthday. He would’ve laughed at the awful irony of it all, if he hadn’t felt as if the simple movement would kill him. Charlie pulled himself into a corner of an abandoned alley and curled up and awaited Death to join him with his elder brother.

Death never came.

But, a brother did.

Jack Kelly stumbled upon the sick child and helped him to the Manhattan Lodging House. Charlie recognized bits of Sean in the Manhattan boy. He saw his brother in the mischievous glint that shone in Jack’s eyes, in the flashing smirk, in the crooked smile. They were even the same age; Charlie’s stomach had twisted when Jack had told him that he was eleven–barely.

Charlie refused to trust Jack, knew just how awfully that had turned out with Sean. To begin with, Charlie would not provide his real name to Jack. Jack suggested he just create a new one–start over, fresh. It was what most of the newsies did, he explained. And, thus, Crutchie was born out of the ashes of a young, terrified, abandoned boy.

Jack invited Crutchie to tag along wherever he went. Crutchie loved being with the older boy, but he couldn’t assuage the terror that curdled in his stomach. He feared that Jack would leave him if he messed up. So, Crutchie worked hard to sell all his papes, stay out of trouble, only eat after all the other boys had eaten. He hid behind a mask of smiles and laughter, didn’t make any friends, and stayed as safe as he could from the pain of broken trust.

It worked for a while–hiding. But, Jack refused to let his new friend simply disappear into the background. The first night Jack took Crutchie up to the roof, the younger boy only sat there, quietly fidgeting and picking at his palm. Jack softly said, “It’s okay to be scared. I know I was scared when I first got here. Didn’t trust anyone for the longest time. But, Crutch, I ain’t ever gonna hurt ya. You need to know that.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said, too,” Crutchie muttered, before his face darkened considerably. He hadn’t meant to let anything slip about his elder brother. In fact, only a few weeks earlier, he had decided to never think of Sean ever again–

It wasn’t working.

“Who?” Jack asked, ever the digger.

“None of your business, that’s who,” Crutchie shot back.

Jack smirked, leaning back. The motion was achingly familiar and Crutchie looked away angrily. “Yeah? Well, you don’t gotta tell me if you don’t wanna. I’m not going to force you, or anything. I’m just saying that you can talk to me. I don’t care who hurt you in the past, but I ain’t like them.”

But, you are! Crutchie wanted to shout. You are, you are, you are. Instead, he just picked at his palm. They didn’t talk for the rest of the night about Crutchie’s past.

The next night followed much the same pattern.

As did the night after that.

Each night, Jack and Crutchie would sit on the rooftop, tracing constellations through the night sky. They would talk about everything, about nothing. And then, invariably, Jack would broach the topic that Crutchie dreaded the most. “So…” he’d start. Some nights he’d paint on Crutchie’s arm, the chill paint calming him. Other nights, he’d rub his thumb along the back of Crutchie’s hand, reminding the younger boy that he would always be there for him. Crutchie would pointedly change the topic, and they’d move on, Jack unabashed, but planning on bringing it up the following night.

Then, one night, Jack started, “So…” and Crutchie didn’t immediately brush him off.

“I lied,” he said, instead.

Jack perked up, but didn’t say anything. He started painting yellow stars up and down Crutchie’s arm, careful precision focusing each individual point. Though he seemed wholly attentive on his artwork, Crutchie knew that he was listening.

“I mean, I didn’t lie ‘bout the whole mess. My ma did walk out and my pa did throw me out. But… it wasn’t just me.” Crutchie fell silent, staring into the distance, as if he could procure Sean, just by wishing for him. Though, if it hadn’t worked before, what was to say it would work this night? “I had an older brother. He… You remind me a lot of him,” Crutchie admitted. “He ran out on us, when I was six.”

When Crutchie didn’t elaborate for a few minutes, Jack spoke up. “Well, that’s a lousy thing ta do.”

Crutchie shook his head roughly, jostling Jack’s paint brush and jerking paint down his arm. “I don’t blame him. He left cuz’a me. I… If I hadn’t been an idiot, our pa would never ‘ave hurt him and he’d’ve stayed.” Crutchie scooted away from Jack, shivering in the cool breeze.

“That’s still a lousy thing to do, just leave ya there. Crutch, you gotta understand, you didn’t deserve any of that stuff.” When Crutchie only scoffed lightly, Jack pressed, “Crutchie, you shouldn’t have been hurt. Your pa shouldn’t have touched you, shouldn’t have said those things to you. And your brother should never have just left you alone in that hell hole.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Crutchie said softly, knowing that it was what Jack expected to hear.

Jack knew that the younger boy didn’t believe him, but he would not stop until Crutchie recognized his own worth, even if it took years. “Just know that I ain’t that brother of yours, and I ain’t gonna ever leave you alone, okay? You can always come to me.”

Crutchie nodded, and, for the time being, that was enough.

It was three years later, when Jack became the leader of Manhattan. Crutchie had turned eleven and Jack would be fifteen in a couple short months. It had taken over a year, but Crutchie finally felt as if he could trust Jack. They were nearly inseparable, the pair of them. Everyone recognized that you hurt Crutchie, and you’d be met with Jack’s fist. And, if you hurt Jack, Crutchie was not above fighting dirty. Together, they were unstoppable, and nothing would shake their friendship.

Trust, hard-earned, had even developed between the pair of them. Crutchie hadn’t told Jack any more of the story–he hadn’t volunteered his brother’s name, where he was from. Jack no longer expected him to. Crutchie would come to Jack with fears and problems that wracked his day-to-day life. The past would be forgotten; it no longer mattered in the face of their friendship.

The stasis couldn’t last forever.

It seemed so innocuous. “Let’s go to Brooklyn. They’ve got a new leader that just started last year. I should probably meet up with him. His name’s Spot Conlon.”

The name didn’t mean anything to Crutchie and he agreed to tag along.

Both Manhattan boys sold their papes fairly quickly, working together on a familiar street corner. Their combined efforts allowed them to leave Manhattan in the early afternoon and venture to Brooklyn. “You ever been?” Jack asked.

“To Brooklyn? Got no need to,” Crutchie told him. “I’ve got Manhattan, after all.” He grinned, punching Jack gently in the arm. “Why? You tryin’ to get rid ‘a me?”

“Hey, hey!” Jack said, backing out of Crutchie’s reach. “There ain’t no need to get all violent. I ain’t trying to get rid of you, but if you keep punching me, I may start considerin’ it.” Jack suddenly grabbed at Crutchie, pulling him into a headlock.

Crutchie yiped at the sudden attack, laughing as he tried to pull his head to safety. Jack gave him a rough noogie, before allowing the younger boy to slip out of his grasp. “You ain’t gettin’ rid of me and I ain’t gettin’ rid of you, ya hear me?” Jack said, smiling widely at his best friend. “We’se in it together.”

“Yeah, we is,” Crutchie agreed. “But, if we don’t keep going to Brooklyn, it’s gonna get dark.”

“It’s still light out, ain’t it?” Jack challenged, waving his arms around at the sky.

Crutchie shook his head, exasperated, but grinning. “Come on, slow poke, or I’se gonna tell this Spot Conlon myself that I’m leader of Manhattan.”

Still joking, the two friends continued their way to Brooklyn. They only stopped a sum total of five times, three of which ended with Jack in a headlock and all of which ended with laughter and teasing comments. By the time they reached Brooklyn, both boys were grinning and had dirt smudged across their faces.

“We’re here to see Spot Conlon,” Jack announced, once they reached the edge of the Brooklyn bridge.

One of the Brooklyn boys scowled in Jack’s direction. “And who should I say’s stopping by.”

“Jack Kelly, leader of Manhattan.”

The boy nodded, before disappearing behind a building. A couple Brooklyn boys remained at the edge, watching Jack and Crutchie with a bored expression flattening their faces. Crutchie started telling Jack about this strange customer that had bought ten papes from him a couple days ago. “–he just stared at me a little strangely when I said that it would cost a dime. And this was right before that storm, so the sky was all dark and rumbly, but this guy didn’t seem to notice. He just kept–” Crutchie cut himself off, every thought freezing for a moment, except one: Sean.

Sean–no, Spot Conlon stared at the Manhattan pair. He, too, seemed frozen, as he studied Crutchie. His sharp blue eyes hesitated on the crutch, observing the way the younger boy leaned on it. Jack noticed, but didn’t understand–couldn’t possibly understand–the shock that immobilized the Brooklyn leader. “Whatcha staring at?” Jack challenged, and Spot tore his eyes from Crutchie’s crutch to face Jack.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice deceptively impassive. “You’re the new Manhattan leader?”

“Yeah, and this is Crutchie. He’s my second.”

“Crutchie.” Spot repeated the name slowly, rolling the two syllables gently around his mouth. There was something almost dangerous in Spot’s eyes, something that sharpened the blue irises until they cut through any attempt made on Crutchie’s apart to hide his surprise at meeting his long-lost brother.

Crutchie nodded when Spot said his name, reaffirming that that was who he was–not the shell of a frightened boy he had abandoned all those years ago.

“We just wanted to stop by, be all genial-like. Brooklyn’s a good ally.”

“Yeah,” Spot agreed softly. His sharp eyes continued to flick in Crutchie’s direction.

Crutchie knew his elder brother, knew that there wasn’t much of his appearance that would escape Spot’s attention. He knew that the dirt that scuffed his face, stained his clothes; the way his hair had grown out, shaggy and long and definitely in need of a haircut, as Jack was apt to mention when he teased the younger boy; the shirt that was still a bit too large because it was a hand-me-down from Jack that the older boy had outgrown and had pain stains coloring its sleeves and the frayed hem; the bright smile that Crutchie wore, no longer as a shield, but now with proud because he was happy, dammit–all would be recognized by Spot. There was nothing that Crutchie could hide from him and he simply watched as Spot’s eyes continued to jump to the boy he had once called brother.

To the boy he had left behind.

These furtive glances didn’t escape Jack’s attention. “You got a problem with my friend?” he challenged, stepping forward, bristling with protective energy. Spot recognized this, recognized the way that Crutchie stuck to Jack’s side. Recognized that he had been replaced.

“No, no I don’t.” He snorted softly. “Don’t even know the kid. Well,” he continued, his voice louder and falsely jovial, “if that’s that, I’ll see you around, Jack Kelly.” He turned sharply away, motioning for his boys to follow him.

Crutchie tried to hide the wave of stabbing grief that swept through him. He could tell that Sean–Spot, now–recognized him. How couldn’t he? They were brothers, after all. But, his brother wanted nothing of him. Probably still blamed him for the apple tart and the following abuse. Not that Crutchie could ever blame him–the hatred, in Crutchie’s mind, was totally justified.

“You okay, Crutch? I didn’t think Spot would be such a jerk.”

“Yeah, neither did I,” Crutchie whispered, hollowly.

He turned his back on Brooklyn, and walked away.

Crutchie never intended to speak to his brother again.

When the unthinkable happened, though, he had no choice, but turn to the brother he, once upon a time, trusted.

“I need to talk to Spot,” Crutchie said, not even bothering to hide the desperation that laced his words. When the Brooklyn boys scoffed at him, Crutchie continued. “It’s an emergency. He’ll see me, I know he will.” He had to. Spot was the only hope Crutchie had left. “Tell him that–that Crutchie, his– Tell him that Crutchie needs to talk to him. He knows me.”

One of the Brooklyn boys rolled his eyes, but jogged off to find the Brooklyn leader. It seemed eons later that he returned, gesturing for Crutchie to follow. “Guess you were right, Manhattan. Spot’s willing to talk to you. And he don’t talk to most people.”

Crutchie nodded, tightening his fingers into fists, if only to hide the shaking that had begun. The stress of the events earlier that day, the fear that Spot would just turn him away–would betray his trust once again–both, manifested themselves in his trembling hands. The Brooklyn boy led him to the Brooklyn Lodging House, up a flight of stairs, and to a small room with a single bed. And on that bed–

“Sean,” Crutchie started, the name ripe with all the pain, betrayal, love, trust, hope that had flitted across Crutchie’s memory in that moment.

“It’s Spot, now,” he said simply. When Crutchie just stood there, watching him, fearing he had overstepped a boundary, Spot smiled softly. He patted the bed beside him. “You can sit, you know. I don’t bite, Charlie.”

“Crutchie,” Crutchie reminded him. “I’m not… him, anymore.”

“Yeah, about that,” Spot started, before falling silent. He gestured weakly to Crutchie’s crutch. “What, uh, what happened? Pa didn’t–” he cut himself off, unwilling to even voice the fear.

“Polio.”

“Oh.” They were quiet, before Spot added, “I’m sorry.”

Crutchie turned to him, glaring. “For what? The polio? Or when you walked out on me, left me to be beat just about to death by pa?” And, while that may have been a slight stretch of the situation, Crutchie could remember far too many nights where he had lain in bed, wishing that his father would just kick him too hard, choke him too long. Just end it all.

“Charlie, you gotta understand–”

“It’s Crutchie,” he interrupted. “Look, this doesn’t matter, okay? What’s done is done. I’m not here to dredge up the past. Spot, I need your help.” Crutchie knew that unburying past regrets, past pains would only further drive a wedge between the brothers. It would hurt, far more than it would heal. Besides, Crutchie couldn’t focus on himself or his own issues at a time like this. He needed… He wasn’t the one hurting, currently.

Spot regarded his younger brother carefully, observing the anger that remained, pulsing beneath the skin, masked by the desperation that brought color to his cheeks. “What do you need help with?”

“Jack. He got… Snyder nabbed him. He’s in the Refuge and I gotta get him out. You’ve heard what they do to kids in there, right?”

“Yeah, I have. But, Crutchie,” he began, ignoring how the name felt strange on his tongue. Wrong, almost. “Crutchie, what exactly do you propose that I do? The Refuge is in Manhattan. That’s not my territory. Me and my boys can’t just go traipsing through Kelly’s turf.”

“What if I says you can?” Crutchie asked. “Please, Spot. We need to get him outta there. I can’t do this on my own. I need your help. I–I need you. He’s… He’s my brother,” Crutchie explained, ignoring the way Spot’s jaw twitched at that comment.

Spot hated doing so, but he shook his head. “I can’t risk it. There’s no way we could get him outta there. I would just end up getting my boys thrown in there, as well.”

Crutchie’s face hardened and he stood up quickly. “I never… Of course, ya won’t help. I shouldn’t have even expected you to understand: brothers don’t leave brothers alone. They don’t leave ‘em to rot, half to death, but– You’ve never– It’s always been about saving your own skin, huh?” Crutchie demanded, his eyes flashing dangerously. “You ain’t got a selfless bone in your body, yeah? Well, I’ll have to get him out myself.”

Spot leapt to his feet, grabbing Crutchie’s arm. “Don’t you dare, Crutchie. You’ll get… You’ll get hurt.”

“And when has that ever mattered to you, Sean?” Crutchie bit out, before tearing out of Spot’s gentle grip. He left the room, before Spot could say anything more. Crutchie rushed past the Brooklyn boys, aching for Manhattan. That was his home–Brooklyn felt foreign, as if he had never known it before. He would do whatever it took to get Jack out of the Refuge.

Who needed Spot Conlon anyway?

Who needed Sean?

The strike dawned, the morning air thrumming with excitement and faintly-hid worries. Crutchie hurried over to where Jack conversed softly with Davey, exclaiming, “Jack! Look what I made! Good, huh?” He lofted his crutch into the air, displaying the strike banner he had painted the night earlier. It shifted in the soft breeze, and Jack smiled at him, reaching out to gently finger the banner. Race interrupted by mocking Crutchie’s work, and Crutchie felt his stomach sink uncomfortably. Now that Race pointed it out, it did look sort of… lame. All Crutchie had wanted was to prove that he was just as much a part of the strike as the other boys.

Jack patted his back, comfortingly. His focus was on Davey, though, who was trying to inspire the boys to follow through with the strike. “Jack,” Crutchie said, waiting for the older boy to look back at him. “Jack, what… What did Brooklyn say?” When Jack had asked for volunteers for Brooklyn, Crutchie had pointedly focused his attention on the ground. While he wasn’t scared of Spot, nor his boys, he didn’t exactly want to see the Brooklyn leader again. It had been years since Crutchie had last approached his elder brother–and years more would pass, before Crutchie would willingly seek him out.

“They ain’t coming. Spot wanted to make sure we weren’t going to fold at the first sign of trouble,” Jack explained, his face souring with the words.

Crutchie scowled, his fingers tightening around his crutch. “‘Course they ain’t. That Spot Conlon’s a coward. Never knew how to face a fight head on,” Crutchie bit out. He had hoped that Spot would show up and help them, even if it weren’t for him. Crutchie no longer expected Spot to care what happened to him–his brother had never shown that much interest after the tart–but, he had hoped that Spot and his boys would come for, if not him, the rights of the boys across the city.

Jack glanced at his younger friend in surprise, his eyebrows raising. “I didn’t expect you to have such strong opinions on Conlon.”

“I just know a coward when I see one,” Crutchie muttered, shoving past Jack and approaching Romeo, who kept glancing at the Delancey brothers with apprehension. They would win the strike, and then Spot would feel like a fool. Katherine, the kind reporter, had said that they could even make the front page. Maybe Spot would see Crutchie’s picture in the pape and wish that he had been there. Maybe he’d even want to reconcile.

Maybe Pulitzer would divide his hefty fortune among the newsboys.

Crutchie blinked away hopeless dreams and focused on where Davey and Jack were rallying the boys. He joined in, raising morale and hope. They would win–no other outcome was acceptable.

And, for a moment, it looked as if they would win.

The Delancey brothers had run off, their tails between their legs. Weisel had disappeared in the chaos–they had won. Katherine had snapped a celebratory picture, and Crutchie had smiled as wide as he could manage. Let Spot see the picture, let him wish he had been there, beside his brother.

It was all so hopeful.

And, then, it wasn’t.

Weisel returned with a group of men–strikebreakers. The air shifted and the carefree attitude, with which the strike had begun, dissipated. Crutchie backed up, almost apprehensively. Suddenly, the outcome of the strike didn’t seem so clear. Loss taunted them on the horizon. Jack, ever the brave leader, commanded, “Get them!” and the uneasy stalemate shattered.

Boys surged forward, strikebreakers pressed them back. Papes flew across the air, knocking boys and men to the ground. Punches were thrown, weapons swung. Cries of pain, of victory, shot up throughout the crowd. Crutchie lost track of Jack, couldn’t find him. Everything was far too loud and familiar. For a moment, Crutchie wasn’t in Newsies Square–he was back in a tenement, crouching in the corner, awaiting a punishment he knew that he couldn’t avoid. A tentative hand on his shoulder, and Crutchie jolted to the side, his heart hammering. “S-sean?” he begged, needing his elder brother to crawl through that window and hold him tight, his fingers running lightly through sweaty hair.

“It’s Jack, but, hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Jack reassured him. If the name Crutchie had called out surprised him, he gave no indication. Though, Crutchie suspected that he would try and figure it out, later that night, once they were all home and safe. “We’re gonna be fine.” A shout caught Jack’s attention. The cops had shown up and viciously backhanded Romeo to the ground. Jack squeezed Crutchie’s shoulder. “You good?”

“Y-yeah,” Crutchie said, shakily. He wasn’t back there. He would never be back there, ever again. “Go help them.”

Jack nodded, his eyes still bright with worry. However, Jack’s stewardship extended beyond Crutchie, and there were so many more boys that needed his help. “Okay, be careful, Crutch. Nothing will happen, I promise.”

The words reminded Crutchie of when Sean used to calm him after nightmares. He’d run his fingers through Crutchie’s hair, reassuring his baby brother that he wouldn’t allow anything to happen to him. Crutchie had trusted him–and Sean had left him.

Crutchie watched Jack’s retreating back, burning fear roiling within his stomach. Jack wouldn’t– Jack wasn’t like Sean. He had said so himself, had promised Crutchie that he would never leave him. Crutchie pushed himself to his feet, noticing that the Delancey brothers were railing on Elmer. Shoving the fear to the back of his mind, Crutchie approached them, intent on breaking up that fight. “Hey, stop it!” he shouted, shoving Morris to the ground. “Ain’t two on two a little more fair?”

One of the Delanceys landed a good punch to Crutchie’s jaw, but he fended them off. They slunk away, and Crutchie helped Elmer up. “Stay safe,” he told Elmer, before the boy dashed off to where Mush was fighting back one of the bulls.

A sudden hit to the back of his head had Crutchie stumbling forward. He caught himself and started to turn around, but Oscar Delancey had grabbed his arm, his grip like iron. Morris grabbed Crutchie’s other arm, and they began dragging him away. Crutchie struggled against the brothers, but could not break free. “Not so strong now, eh?” Oscar asked, leering at him. “And what’s this?” he added, tearing the strike banner from Crutchie’s crutch and crumpling it into a pitiful ball.

Since Oscar had let go of him, Crutchie was free to swing his crutch, nailing Oscar–hard–in the ribs. He turned to attack Morris, but the Delancey brother punched him with a pair of brass knuckles. Crutchie fell to the ground, unable to catch himself. He scrambled for his crutch, but it had been kicked out of his reach. Before he could completely understand what was happening, Snyder had shown up and the crutch had bruised his ribs.

Crutchie hacked and coughed, struggling to breathe in the onslaught of attacks. “Jack,” he begged. He needed help–he needed his older brother. “Jack!” He was all Crutchie had left, all Crutchie could trust.

Snyder crouched down, grabbing his thin wrists. “It’s off to the Refuge with you, little man,” he hissed, his breath sour.

“N-no,” Crutchie begged. He knew what Jack had been like upon returning from the Refuge, knew exactly what that institution would do to young boys. “No, please,” he begged. Snyder didn’t pause, only gestured to the Delancey brothers to take him away. “Jack!” Crutchie screamed with a desperation that ached in his throat. “Jack, help!” Across the square, he saw Jack. Hope leapt to the tip of his tongue, dizzyingly bright. “Jack! Please!”

Jack’s face twisted with grief and pain. That confused Crutchie, until the older boy took a step backwards. “N-no! Wait! Jack, please!” Crutchie shouted, grappling at cobble stones to halt his impending doom. “Jack!”

With a regretful shake of his head, Jack disappeared.

For a blindingly painful second, it was Sean’s retreating back, instead of Jack’s.

“You promised,” Crutchie whispered, realizing that there was simply no such thing as a trustworthy older brother.

Jack practically collapsed onto the roof. Crutchie was gone–to the Refuge. After returning, Jack had promised Crutchie that he would never have to fear the Refuge, that Jack would never allow his younger brother to be taken there. Except, he had. He hadn’t stopped Snyder, hadn’t stopped the Delancey brothers. Jack had stood there, had watched as Crutchie was dragged away.

He kicked at the railing, burning anger sweeping through him. Crutchie was gone. Jack had gone back on all his promises, and now he couldn’t even guarantee that his brother would be able to get out of there. Jack knew, far too well, just how many lives were squandered within that hellish institution–he had watched young boys’ eyes dull and their hands fall limply from the bed. Jack could envision Crutchie, all too clearly, fall prey to the same awful fate.

Jack wanted nothing more than to just run off to Santa Fe, to disappear from New York and his mistakes for the rest of his life. But, he couldn’t just leave Crutchie alone. Jack, more than anyone else, knew how much Crutchie feared to be left behind. And, though Crutchie’s brother had done that to him, Jack refused to hurt his best friend, his brother, through that painful betrayal. He would go to the Refuge right now, get Crutchie out of there. It would be a fantastic rescue–one the boys would speak of for years to come–and he wouldn’t return without his brother.

Before he could leave the roof, the rattle of the fire escape alerted Jack to a visitor. “Go away,” he bit out, turning away from whichever of his boys was coming to check on him. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”

“Yeah, well, as it turns out, neither am I.”

Jack turned in surprise, and was met with Spot’s fist. He stumbled backwards, his hand pressing to his stinging cheek. “Spot, what the hell?” he demanded.

Spot breathed heavily, his chest heaving. His eyes glinted dangerously. “How could you?” he hissed, his voice low. “I trusted you to–” he cut himself off, turning away. “How could you just…”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jack said, tenderly working his jaw.

“You were supposed to protect him! I trusted you to protect him and now he’s in the Refuge!” Spot stepped closer to Jack, glaring at the taller boy. His hands were still balled into fists and the Brooklyn leader seemed to tense in preparation of a fight.

“Crutchie?” Jack asked, backing up in surprise and to keep a safe distance from the Brooklyn boy.

“Yes!” Spot shouted, before glowering at him. His jaw snapped shut audibly, and he threw another punch at Jack.

Expecting it this time, Jack dodged, stepping out of reach. “I didn’t think you cared about Crutchie. You’ve only met him that one time.”

The anger that radiated from Spot seemed to abate at the comment. “He… never told you?” Spot asked, his shoulders slumping. He hesitated, stepping backwards. “I had thought… I woulda assumed he told, at least, you. Unless…”

“Spot,” Jack started carefully, “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.” He remained safely out of Spot’s reach, though he did know that the Brooklyn boy could move faster than a hawk, if provoked.

“He’s my brother.”

For a moment, Jack couldn’t believe the words. But, Spot remained silent, bristling with anger and… and, regret. Jack’s eyes widened. “You’re… the one that left Crutchie behind?” he demanded. It was his turn to be filled with righteous anger. “You left him alone with your father, left him to be–”

“I know,” Spot admitted, his voice bitter. “I know what I did to him. But, he has you, now. You’re his older brother. Or, were. You were supposed to protect him, keep him safe!”

“You think I didn’t want to? You think I didn’t feel as if I were being torn in two when he was dragged away?” Jack exclaimed, bitter regret seeping from each vowel. “You think I wanted this to happen? I couldn’t save him. I–I’d only be taken to the Refuge as well. You’ve got to understand.”

Spot breathed out a heavy sigh, turning away from Jack and leaning against the railing. His eyes flicked across the night sky, his face dark with memories. “Oh, I understand,” Spot said. “Probably more than I should. I… remember what it was like. You’ve got to save yourself. Don’t look back, don’t remember. Just… get out.” He turned to Jack, his eyes flashing. This time, the emotion was indiscernible. “I left him, too, as you know.”

“I hated you for it, hated you for what it did to him,” Jack admitted softly. “He wouldn’t trust me for the longest time. Because of you. And, now, I’ve gone and done the same thing.”

“Can you blame us?” Spot asked. “I was eight. I knew no better. You would’ve been dragged back to the Refuge. What other choices did we have?”

“There was always another choice.”

Spot straightened his shoulders. “Either way, it’s already been made. There’s no going back now. Only forward.” He turned to Jack. “You get my brother back. You make sure he is okay.” He nodded once, certain that Jack would do what it took to keep Crutchie safe. Spot started toward the fire escape, before pausing. “And,” he added, “if you’re still striking, Brooklyn will be there, every step of the way. For Crutchie. For my brother.”

Hollowly, Jack repeated, “For my brother.”

Spot had sent a messenger to Manhattan the day after his conversation with Jack. The small boy, Robin, returned rather quickly, knocking briefly on the door and waiting impatiently for Spot to indicate that he could enter. Once within Spot’s private room, Robin began to talk, his eyes flicking around the room as he took in his leader’s residence. “That one tall kid, Davey? He’s real pleased.”

“Jack wasn’t there?” Spot asked, glancing at the kid in surprise. “I told ya to talk to Jack directly.”

“Yeah, I know,” Robin said petulantly. “I ain’t no idiot. He wasn’t around. Davey’s in charge, right now. Him and Race, they was saying.”

“They got a reason for kicking Jack from the head?”

Robin shrugged. “Not that I know of. Davey said Jack’d be around, but until he was back, Race and he were stepping up. Davey didn’t seem to want to talk much ‘bout it,” Robin explained, leaning against the wall and ignoring Spot’s sharp gaze. “If ya ask me, I’d’a said he was embarrassed. Maybe that Jack Kelly ran, ya think?”

“I’m not here to just gab about Manhattan’s troubles,” Spot muttered, dark emotions clutching at the base of his stomach, pinching, painful.

“Just sayin’,” Robin finished, as he pushed himself off the wall. The young messenger was recognized for his perceptiveness and he could tell that the Brooklyn leader was displeased with the information he had provided.

“Thanks, Robin,” Spot said, dismissing the younger boy. Once Robin had left the room, Spot clenched his fingers tightly into a fist, punching the wall beside him firmly. Rage surged within him, his skin tingling with the sinking sense of helplessness. “Kelly,” he growled. His nails dug into the soft of his palm, searing pain only partially dulling the anger, the fear.

Spot Conlon didn’t depend on anyone, had learned at far too young an age that there really wasn’t anyone that he could trust beyond himself–had even instilled the same lesson into his younger brother. But, Jack Kelly–

For the first time in years, Spot had found himself in a position where he needed to trust someone, where he depended on someone to help him, because he couldn’t do it alone. As much as Spot hated it, he could not win the strike without Kelly’s leadership. Even worse, he could not get Crutchie out of the Refuge without the Manhattan leader’s support and assistance.

Jack Kelly, the coward, had just damned his brother to an early death at Snyder’s unfeeling hand.

Whose brother? an awful voice whispered, and Spot turned away viciously. He understood that Crutchie trusted Kelly more than his own blood, couldn’t even bring himself to blame the younger boy. If anything, he deserved the lack of trust. But, now Kelly had gone and betrayed him. Who did Crutchie have now? Just two cowards.

Spot refused to make the same mistake twice and determined that he and a number of his boys would be at the rally, no matter whether Kelly decided to show his face or not. He left the room, scowling, ignoring the worried, confused looks that a couple of his kids shot him. Robin looked up from a game of poker with three other Brooklyn boys. “You want something, boss?”

“Get Laces and Jimmy, maybe a couple other kids you trust. We’re going to that damn rally.”

Spot’s determination did not fade, even when they got to the rally and it became apparent that Kelly wouldn’t be showing up. Behind him, Robin muttered, “Told ya he ran. Ain’t ever held up in a fight.”

He whirled on the younger boy. “Shut up,” he hissed. “You don’t understand what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.”

Robin nodded quickly, and Spot watched the shock in the younger boy’s eyes fade into petulance. “Whatever you say, Spot.” He edged past the Brooklyn leader, finding Laces and striking up a conversation with her.

Spot let him go, unwilling to truly pound the lesson into the kid’s head. He didn’t understand what he said, didn’t understand the piercing truth. As much as Spot simply wished to hate Kelly for running from his past, he understood. He had done the same thing, left his younger brother in just as painful and dangerous a place. Spot, like Kelly, hadn’t held up in the one fight that had mattered. He was fighting now, but it seemed far too little, far too late.

“Welcome,” Davey greeted, spitting into his hand.

Spot quickly reciprocated the action, nodding tersely at the Manhattan boy. He hesitated for half a moment, before voicing the question he didn’t even want to know the answer to. “Kelly showing?”

Davey’s face darkened briefly. “He should be here any moment.”

The lie fell, solid and heavy, between the two boys. Spot very nearly called him out on it, but decided to allow it to slide. Perhaps he felt something akin to understanding for Davey. Spot nodded. “We might as well get started,” he suggested, nodding to where the boys from the various boroughs were beginning to get restless.

“Y-yes,” Davey agreed shakily. He quickly called the attention of the boys, but it didn’t hold. A couple kids from the Bronx began to murmur that they wanted Jack, that Jack was supposed to be leading the rally. Spot noticed the sweat that dotted Davey’s forehead, the way his lip trembled nearly imperceptibly.

“We can’t just wait around for Kelly,” Spot commanded, his voice rising above the soft murmurs. “We’ve got to actually–”

Kelly’s sardonic voice cut Spot off. “If you want to be talked to like an adult, start acting like one.”

Spot held his ground, glaring at the Manhattan leader. The glare softened, however, as he studied Kelly. His brown hair was disheveled, as if he had jerked his hands through it countless times. Kelly’s dark eyes seemed even darker in the light of Medda’s theatre–haunted, even. Those eyes alighted on Spot, flashing with something unintelligible, before flicking away. Spot watched as Kelly straightened his vest subconsciously, glancing backward.

“And here’s Jack Kelly!” Davey shouted, excitedly gesturing to the Manhattan leader.

Kelly waved the attention away, before glancing around the room, pointedly not making eye contact with Spot. His face was drawn, eyes lowered with something akin to defeat. Stomach sinking, Spot realized exactly where Kelly was going to take this rally. The goddamn traitor…

“Pulitzer raised price of papes without so much as a word to us and that was a lousy thing to do. We showed him that we wouldn’t be pushed around, so’s we go on strike. And then what happens? Pulitzer lowers the price of papes so’s that we’ll go back to work,” Kelly said, his arms waving tensely. He pauses, his face twisting into a grimace.

Spot stepped forward a half-step, aching to shout at Kelly, to grab him by his goddamn neck and throttle him for even considering what Spot fears his is planning on doing. His mouth did not open, only tightened.

Kelly continued to speak, confirming Spot’s worst fears. “And then a few weeks after that, he hikes up his price again. And don’t think he won’t.” Kelly’s voice nearly breaks and some of Spot’s rage fades at the crack. The Manhattan leader is cornered, and can only see one way out. “So what do we do then? And what do we when he decides to raise his price again after that? Fellas, we gotta be realistic here!” It almost sounded as if Kelly is begging the boys, begging them to understand just how trapped he is, Spot realized. Kelly continued, ignoring the way his voice wavered on the words, “If we don’t work, we don’t get paid. How many days can you go without making money? Believe me, however, long, Pulitzer can go longer.”

He took a shuddering breath, and continued, “But I have spoken with Mr. Pulitzer, and he has given me his word, if we disband the union, he will not raise his prices for two years and he will put that in writing. I say we take the deal.”

The entire rally devolved into chaos, boys shouting, angry–bewildered. Jack Kelly had betrayed them. Jack Kelly had betrayed them. The boys couldn’t, wouldn’t understand.

Spot did, though the knowledge pained him. It didn’t assuage the hurt, the anger that Jack would betray the boys, would betray Crutchie, in such a way. Spot stepped forward, grabbing Jack’s shirt, intending to pound some sense into the Manhattan leader. He had to force Jack to understand that there had to be another way, something else he could do to rescue his brother. Spot’s fist pulled back, but Jack jerked out of his grip, stumbling away. He was being railed on by the boys, but Jack ignored that stopping in the doorway, where a man dressed in black handed him a stack of cash.

The boys erupted into cries of outrage.

Spot’s stomach plummeted, watching as Jack shoved his way out of the theatre, the money still clutched tightly to his chest. The eyes of the newsboys turned to Spot and he steeled himself for the new leadership they expected. “We aren’t stopping,” he informed them, his voice steadier than his legs felt. “We’re seein’ this through.” A couple of the newsboys nodded hesitantly. “For our brothers,” Spot added.

He was determined that they would not allow the strike to fall into defeat, that they would not allow the sacrifices to be made for naught. They would fight, for each other, for the children across the city.

For our brothers, and for our brother’s traitors.

The newsboys won the strike. Jack was proud that they had stuck with it, had refused to give in, even against the pressures exerted by Pulitzer. Despite the impossibility of the situation, despite the towering odds, they had succeeded. It had all been worth it–

Maybe.

Jack surveyed the crowd of cheering newsboys, a somber smile pulling softly at thin lips. The strike had come at much too high a cost. He still felt… empty. Alone. Crutchie’s absence weighed far heavier than Jack would have ever thought possible. Each smile between his boys, the raucous laughter, the friendly shoves–all sharp, twisting daggers. Harsh reminders of who Jack had failed to protect.

He curled his fingers into the biting metal of the rail. Joseph Pulitzer continued to speak, consonants clipped. Jack just wanted to drown him out, but each sharp “t,” each popped “p”–they grated at his thinning nerves. The sun shone brightly, violently. Sweat itched at the collar of his shirt, discomfort prickling his skin. The heat, the sweat, the hushed sound of the newsboys comments to their success: all reminded Jack of where Crutchie was. Of what Crutchie wouldn’t be able to witness.

The kid had been so excited for the strike. He had been nervous, Jack could tell. But, as usual, Crutchie put the needs of the other boys first. He approached the strike with a bravado that Jack suspected he, alone, could see through. The boy had always been like that, ever since Jack first met him. He would put his needs second–always. Jack imagined that it arose from a deeply-rooted fear of never being “enough” for the other boys, of desperately searching for a way to prove his worth.

Jack suspected that Spot could be blamed for that.

It still felt strange to know that Spot was Crutchie’s brother. For years, Jack had wished that he knew Crutchie’s older brother, had wanted to punch the boy until the aching regret for Crutchie faded under the pain of bruised knuckles. Now, though, that he had put a face to the brother Crutchie had spoke of, Jack found that he couldn’t simply hate Spot. Not, when he felt as if he understood. Not after he had done the exact same to the younger boy.

A trilling whistle pulled Jack from his thoughts and he turned his attention to the edge of the square where a couple of cops were entering. Their badges glinted dangerously in the sun, billy clubs held at their side, harmless–for now. Instinctively, Jack’s muscles tensed and he prepared for a mad dash to safety.

Except…

There were other boys to think of. Jack calmed the surging adrenalin. No longer, would he run from a fight, if his boys were still there. Jack would be the last one to leave a fight. Never again would Jack leave someone behind. There would never be another situation such as Crutchie. Not while Jack remained the leader.

He swallowed down the fear that surged, watching the bulls carefully. Across the square, familiar laughter rippled through the air. Jack’s grip on the railing tightened, but this time with ill-suppressed hope. “Crutchie,” Jack breathed, as if speaking above a whisper would frighten the quite-possible phantasm.

“You miss me?” the boy called out, his voice ringing out in joviality.

Every fear, every regret lifted from Jack’s shoulders. He felt weightless as he leaped from the railing, dashing across the square. Boys stepped aside, but, if they did not move quickly enough, Jack shoved them to the side. He could not afford to be slowed down.

Mere inches from the younger boy that had quickly become a brother to him, and Jack hesitated. He stopped, he stared. Jack didn’t breathe, fearful that it would shatter the wonder of it all, the incredulity.

“Jack,” was all Crutchie said, smiling weakly.

His name spurred Jack into movement and he crossed the distance in one quick stride, pulling the younger boy into a tight hug. He gripped at Crutchie’s dirty vest, shakily breathing in the scent of dried blood and old vomit–far too aware of the hell Crutchie had gone through. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” Jack muttered, taking comfort in the physical presence of the boy he had grown to care for deeply.

“Jack,” Crutchie repeated, and Jack’s heart nearly broke at the way his voice cracked on the name.

“I ain’t ever letting you go there again,” Jack reassured him, his voice hushed and rushed. “You ain’t ever gonna need to worry about that.” Despite the confidence that exuded from the words, Jack feared that it would be yet another promise that would shatter in his hands. How many times, before, had Jack promised Crutchie’s protection? And, yet, the unthinkable had happened.

Governor Roosevelt drew their attention away from each other, but Jack relished in the fact that he could feel the rough fabric of Crutchie’s shirt against his shoulder, could hear each soft inhale and exhale. Crutchie was back; Crutchie was alive. Everything would return to normal.

Pulitzer slammed the railing, demanding the newsboys to return to work. Beside him, Crutchie shifted and Jack broached the conversation, the dream that had niggled at the back of his mind through the entirety of the hellish events. “What about Santa Fe?” he asked. Jack recalled those nights spent next to each other, painting a future where everything would be okay again. Now that Crutchie was back, now that Crutchie was home, they could go. They could go, and never return.

At the question, Crutchie flinched away. “Oh,” he began, his laughter stiff and forced. “You wouldn’t want–”

Crutchie was cut off as Katherine approached Jack. “What’s Santa Fe got that New York ain’t?” she challenged, hands on her hips.

Jack turned to her, grinning as she weighed in exactly why he shouldn’t go to Santa Fe. He had to admit that it wouldn’t be the wisest move to leave for Santa Fe immediately. If anything, Jack and Crutchie could go in a couple months, once they had saved up more cash. Speaking of Crutchie…

In the excitement of the win, of Katherine, Jack and Crutchie were separated. Jack grabbed his papes, stuffing them into his bag and scanning the crowd for his best friend. Jack froze. Crutchie wasn’t among the newsboys trickling out of the square. His breath caught, and, for an awful moment, Jack feared that it was all a horrible dream–Crutchie was still trapped in the hellish Refuge.

Hurriedly, Jack rushed from the square, praying that Crutchie would just be around the bend, already heading to his normal selling spot. Surely, Crutchie couldn’t have gotten too far ahead of Jack. The leader of Manhattan tried to calm his pounding heart, tried to reassure himself that Crutchie was fine, that he could take care of himself. For some reason, the words felt hollow and did nothing to assuage the bubbling fears. Jack scanned each alley way he passed. Nothing.

To Jack’s relief, he caught a glimpse of Crutchie’s blonde hair jutting familiarly beneath his cap further down an alley. Jack started towards the boy, then noticed who accompanied him. Spot Conlon, leader of Brooklyn.

Spot Conlon, brother of Crutchie.

Crutchie grinned as all the other boys came up to him to welcome him home. They pounded his back, pulled him into hugs. Crutchie hid his winces with practiced ease. He pushed down whatever dark memories whispered at the back of his mind, determined to enjoy his warm welcome. Everyone was there. Everyone–

And, Jack.

Jack, who Crutchie had thought of each dreary night within the Refuge. Jack, who Crutchie had not been able to decide how he felt about the older boy’s actions. It had crushed him, watching Jack turn away and flee. But, a small voice would remind Crutchie, what else could he do? You didn’t want him to get caught, did you? And, no. Crutchie would never have forgiven himself if Jack had been caught on Crutchie’s behalf.

It was better this way.

The conflicting emotions had battled within the Refuge. On a good night, he had written a letter to Jack, instructing him to keep everyone safe–to keep himself safe–while Crutchie could not be among them. That night, he had been thankful that Jack would not be cowering in dirty, shadowy corners.

There had been bad nights, of course. Nights when Crutchie would clench his fists, digging his nails into his palm, if only to distract himself from his situation. Those nights, Crutchie would compare Jack to Spot, categorizing them just the same: both untrustworthy boys who would rather save their own skin than help Crutchie. And, the thought would come, dark and indisputable, if Crutchie could not trust Jack or Spot, who could he trust? They had always been the closest to him and now…

When Jack stopped short in front of Crutchie, those thoughts came flooding back. Utter relief and joy at the mere sight of Jack leapt up to Crutchie’s throat, completely overwhelming whatever doubts and fears still remained. “Jack,” Crutchie said, and Jack engulfed him into a tight hug.

Jack held him tight, his soft voice tickling Crutchie’s ear. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” Jack repeated over and over, the words a soft mantra. Crutchie was unsure whether Jack meant to reassure him, or if the words were a reassurance for Jack, himself. Either way, it mattered not. Jack was there; everything would be righted.

Once again, Crutchie whispered, “Jack.” He didn’t know what else could be said at this moment. I understand, was a worthy contender. Jack had been… different, after his time in the Refuge. Crutchie now felt as if he understood the shadowed thoughts that had darkened Jack’s face, that had deepened his frown.

I never want to be sent there again. I’d rather…

Jack must’ve understood the words that Crutchie couldn’t quite speak because he murmured, “I ain’t ever letting you go there again. You ain’t ever gonna need to worry about that.” Crutchie nodded jerkily at the promise. It wasn’t as if Jack had to truly do anything to keep Crutchie out of the Refuge–it was closed, wasn’t it? For a heart-stopping moment, Crutchie feared that it had all been a terrible illusion that he had created in the rush of freedom. But, no. Across the square, Snyder was loaded into the paddy wagon. Crutchie watched the man as the cops took him away, an intense sensation of relief sweeping through him.

When Governor Roosevelt began speaking, Crutchie stepped back slightly. He didn’t mean to crowd Jack, who was clearly the focus of the governor’s comments. Jack didn’t allow Crutchie to step completely out of reach, their shoulders bumping together gently. Crutchie smiled at the sustained contact–maybe, this time, Jack wouldn’t allow Crutchie to be abandoned ever again. Maybe, this time, it would be different than with Sean. With Spot, who hadn’t ever tried to bridge the rift between the brothers.

Joseph Pulitzer slammed his open hand against the metal railing, the sudden noise startling Crutchie. He was still a little jumpy after the Refuge and sudden movement, sudden sounds recalled memories that he wished could just disappear. If Jack noticed, he didn’t comment, which Crutchie was thankful for. He wasn’t exactly eager to go over his experiences from the Refuge, though Crutchie expected that Jack would begin to pry later that night, when it was just the two of them and infinite stars.

The newsboys began inching toward the stand to get their daily papes, but Jack didn’t move. Instead, he shifted awkwardly. He glanced at Crutchie, before his eyes darted away. “What about Santa Fe?” he asked, and Crutchie’s stomach dropped painfully.

Of course.

Of course, Jack would want to go to Santa Fe. Of course, he would want to leave Crutchie behind. Crutchie believed himself to be ten times the fool to have ever allowed himself to think that Jack would stay with Crutchie. Forcing a fake smile, Crutchie backed away, allowing Katherine to speak with Jack. Let her talk him out of his crazy schemes. Jack may listen to her.

He wouldn’t listen to a brother.

Crutchie joined the line of newsboys getting their papes, smiling at Davey, who watched him carefully. “It’s good to have you back,” Davey told him, squeezing his shoulder gently.

“Thanks, Davey,” Crutchie said. He refused to allow his focus to drift towards where Jack continued to speak with Katherine. He refused to even care if Jack wanted to go to Santa Fe. What did it matter to Crutchie? Who even needed Jack, anyway?

He stepped forward in line, taking his papes from Oscar Delancey. Crutchie figured that he could just forget about everything that had happened, if he went around and sold his papes. Out of sight, out of mind–wasn’t that how the phrase went?

Crutchie left the square, intent on just reaching his familiar selling spot. Before he could completely distance himself from Jack, however, a hand reached out and yanked him into a nearby alley. Crutchie’s heart leapt to his throat, and he immediately pushed against his assailant’s grip. A scream bubbled from Crutchie’s mouth. Memories of the men from the Refuge, of the bigger boys, of the cold sneers, of the blinding pain and the pleas for help that went unanswered for far too long.

“Hey, Crutchie, it’s me,” his assailant said, his voice harsh in his ear.

The words and the voice didn’t process and Crutchie continued to shove at the arms, dismayed when they tightened around his chest. He couldn’t escape; he couldn’t get out. Snyder would be there any moment and he couldn’t stop the nearing onslaught of intense, immobilizing pain. “Jack,” Crutchie cried out, despite the pressing knowledge that Jack couldn’t–Jack wouldn’t–come help him.

“Charlie, it’s me. It’s Sean.”

Crutchie slowed his frantic movements, recognizing the boy holding him. He knew those sharp, blue eyes, the frown that lowered his chin, the firm hands that kept him from collapsing as the sudden rush of adrenaline abated. Before Crutchie could say anything, Spot pulled him into a tight hug. “You scared the crap outta me, Charlie. I thought…” Spot breathed heavily, before releasing Crutchie. “I’m glad you’re okay. I never would’ve forgiven myself if something had happened, if you hadn’t gotten outta there in one piece.”

“I’m okay,” Crutchie reassured him. “I-I’m fine. Ain’t nothing wrong with me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you are,” Spot agreed, studying him. Crutchie knew that each bruise, each wince would not escape Spot’s steady gaze. “You are,” he continued, “but you might not’ve been. I can’t believe Jack would ever–” He cut himself off, gazing at Crutchie. Spot’s eyes sharpened–sparked with an emotion, an idea. “Charlie, come with me. Come to Brooklyn. I’ll set you up with the best selling spot and you won’t ever have to worry about anything like the Refuge ever again. I promise.”

The words echoed what Jack had promised him only minutes before.

What Jack had promised him, despite seeking Santa Fe, anyway.

“Sean,” Crutchie started, but was interrupted by his own name.

“Crutchie!”

He turned, surprised to see Jack hurrying toward him down the alleyway. Jack smiled, but there was a faint desperation that wrinkled at the corner of his eyes. “Crutchie,” Jack repeated, reaching out to the other boy. “You just disappeared. I had thought–”

“I’m fine,” Crutchie reassured him. Jack nodded, the movement shaky and nearly hesitant. He reached out to Crutchie, but his hand stalled, before dropping to pull awkwardly at the hem of his shirt.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Spot agreed. He straightened his back to his fullest height, his gaze steely, protective. Spot edged only slightly between Crutchie and Jack, the movement minute and hardly noticeable.

Jack noticed.

“Come on, Crutchie,” Jack said, gesturing for Crutchie to follow him–to leave Spot. “Let’s go.”

“Actually, I was just inviting Charlie to come stay in Brooklyn, at least for the time being,” Spot said. With the emphasis on Crutchie’s true name, Spot took a step forward, crowding the Manhattan leader.

Jack refused to back up and held his ground. His eyes, however, did shift to Crutchie, nervousness shining from the dark brown pools. “Crutch, you aren’t actually… You wouldn’t really…”

Crutchie didn’t know what to say, didn’t know who to choose.

Didn’t know if he ever actually had a choice, when it truly came down to it.

When Crutchie didn’t immediately interrupt Jack with reassurances that he would remain in Manhattan, Jack continued, the words tight and rushed, “Please, Crutch. Don’t leave. I–I’m sorry about the Refuge. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to keep you outta there.” Jack’s eyes were wide, desperate. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t enough, but, Crutch, you gotta believe me. I ain’t ever gonna let something like that happen to you ever again, I swear.”

“Yeah, you say that, and yet, you’re the one that let Crutchie get taken away, so–”

“It’s not as if you hadn’t done the same thing before!”

“I was eight; I was a kid! You, at least, should have known better.”

“What else could I have done? We both woulda ended up in the Refuge.”

“You still shoulda–”

“Will you both shut up?” Crutchie demanded, shouting at the two boys. “Just… stop, okay?” He waited for Spot and Jack to back up, deflating slightly. Each leader looked somewhat sheepish at Crutchie’s shout. Jack opened his mouth, as if to defend himself, but Crutchie cut him off before he could even begin. “No, Jack. It’s… I don’t have as much of a choice, as you guys make it out to be. I ain’t…” Crutchie took a deep, steeling breath, before turning toward Spot. “Spot– Sean, you’se my brother, yeah, but Jack… Jack, he’s my brother.”

Spot’s face tensed, whatever emotion that had been there only seconds before, disappearing into a smooth mask. “Yeah, whatever, Crutchie,” he said, backing up even further, edging to the end of the alley.

“No, wait, Spot! It ain’t… It ain’t you. You’se still my brother and I– But, I gotta stay with Jack,” Crutchie tried to explain, hating the way that Spot’s face remained emotionless, hating how Spot’s eyes, sharp, pierced through Crutchie’s explanations. “Spot, I still… I could never hate you. I just… Manhattan’s my home now.” He knew that the words were laughingly insufficient in the situation, but Crutchie didn’t know how to express the jumbled emotions that tightened his throat.

With a faint smirk, Spot nodded. His voice was flat, betrayed none of the thoughts that flickered briefly across his icy blue eyes. “No, I get it. We ain’t the kids we once were.” He stepped back again, glancing behind him at the bustle of the New York streets. “Well,” he continued, turning back to Crutchie, “if you ever need a place to stay, for whatever reason, you’ll always be welcome in Brooklyn.”

“Thanks.” That word, alone, was all Crutchie could say, despite knowing that it wasn’t enough, maybe never would be enough. Thanks, an apology for a choice that could not be made. Thanks, a plea for forgiveness and an acknowledgement of mistakes made, of mistakes remembered. Thanks, a peace offering, a white flag that trembled softly.

Spot nodded, the motion terse and firm. The motion, belied by a softening in his blue eyes.

Thanks, a promise between two brothers.

#my fanfiction #newsies #spot and crutchie #i absolutely love this fic #please read it and let me know what you think #it's one of my best fics i've ever written #and the hours that went into this #please validate me

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