Chapter Text
The vibranium shield was Steve’s pride and joy. It was a symbol of protection, of justice, and it could smash its way through Nazis and aliens alike.
As it turns out, it could also smash through several layers of gold-titanium, and the human sternum, ribcage, lungs, and heart beneath it.
Steve and his team have been in Wakanda three days when T’Challa storms in, followed by six members of the Dora Milaje, who station themselves around the room. Steve has the sudden, uncomfortable impression of the Dora as prison guards, and his trepidation only grows in the face of T’Challa’s stony expression.
“T’Challa, what’s—” is all he gets out before one of the Dora hisses, a hand at the blade on her side.
“You will address the King as ‘Your Highness,’” she says, but T’Challa waves a hand at her, more focused on Steve.
“Captain, would you care to explain?” He asks, and though his voice is even, Steve can sense the tension in him, and doesn’t like the inflection placed on his title. Before he can ask, T’Challa continues. “A… small disagreement, you said? He was 'no longer fighting, but not badly injured.' Those were your exact words, were they not?” And Steve’s heart sinks. He hasn’t told the others everything that happened in Siberia, only that Tony attacked Bucky and Steve and Bucky had to stop him—which was true, but if T’Challa insisted on pushing it, and the others found out about the Winter Soldier killing the Starks… They were already wary enough of Bucky, they didn’t need this additional reason to distrust him.
Steve tries to level a sincere and insistent look at T’Challa. “Yes, that’s true. Why do you ask?”
In answer, one of the Dora flips on the television behind the Avengers and turns it to an American news channel, which is showing—
“No,” he breathes when he realizes what they’re saying. Devastation is dropping his stomach, raising bile in his throat. Tony Stark, confirmed dead. He turns to T’Challa, throat working. “What happened?”
“I came to ask you that question, Mr. Rogers. They found his body in Siberia, in an abandoned HYDRA bunker, next to a metal arm and Captain America’s shield. His wounds and the damage to his suit matched the size and shape of the shield.”
Steve can barely comprehend T’Challa’s words. His vision seems to have tunneled to the King’s stony face, and he vaguely registers noises of outrage and disbelief from the others, which sound muffled, as though they are coming to him underwater. “No,” he says again, his voice weak. “I didn’t—”
“Are you saying someone else took your shield and used it to murder Tony Stark? Another person used that shield to destroy his suit, to crush his ribcage and shatter his sternum, puncture both of his lungs, shove pieces of the broken suit into his chest?”
Steve can’t say anything, can’t even think. He can’t have killed Tony. He’d just wanted to stop the fighting. Tony was going to kill Bucky—he couldn’t let Bucky die.
Apparently he’d sacrificed one friend for another.
He feels his legs go weak and drops hard to his knees, looking up at T’Challa, who looks unmoved by this show of grief. “I took Mr. Barnes in as a form of repayment for my having attacked an innocent man,” he says. “I extended that courtesy to you and your followers on the understanding that you would be under control here, where you could be watched. Other countries were already crying for your punishment, for what you had done before Siberia. Now, Captain, the world wants your head. And I am not going to deny them that.”
“What?” Steve croaks, chest feeling tight. “You said you’d help Bucky!”
“Fuck Bucky!” Someone cries, and it takes Steve a moment to remember that there are other people in the room. The voice was Scott, who looks pale and sick as he points a shaking finger at Steve. “You haven’t done shit for anyone but Bucky since I met you, and now this? You killed Tony Stark, for him? For your terrorist assassin buddy, and now that half the world wants to see our throats slit for everything, you still only care about him? Well fuck that, and fuck you, Steve!” He grips his hair with both hands and pulls, looking horrified.
“I would say ‘half the world’ is an understatement, Mr. Lang.” T’Challa looks just as unmoved by Scott’s emotional outburst as Steve’s. He turns his attention back to Steve. “I promised to protect Mr. Barnes, and I will not break that promise. He will remain in Wakanda in monitored cryogenic sleep. You, however, are no longer welcome here. Any of you,” he adds, looking around the room. “You have two hours to leave this palace and three days to vacate this country. If you are not gone by then, or if you step foot inside Wakanda again after that, you will be captured and turned over to the German government, which was the first to issue an arrest warrant for all of you. If you attempt to take any Wakandan property with you or if you threaten, endanger, or attack any citizen of this country, I will authorize the use of deadly force against you. I suggest you begin your departure, unless you intend to turn yourselves in, in which case I will gladly assist you.” He raises an eyebrow, waits a few seconds, then turns on his heel and strides out of the room, followed by the Dora, who give the Avengers threatening looks as they leave.
It’s silent in the room, and Steve finally climbs back to his feet and looks around to see the others all staring at him in various states of horror and disbelief—all except Wanda, who is glaring at the closed doors, red magic swirling around her hands.
Sam is the first one who speaks. His voice sounds rough, like he’s trying not to cry, or maybe to be sick. “Steve, man… what did you do? You told us Tony was fine. You told us T’Challa was on our side, that he took us in because he could see that we were right. Now he’s throwing us out because you killed Tony Stark?”
Something penetrates the fog Steve is in. T’Challa is kicking them out. They’re wanted fugitives, and they either have to leave their sanctuary or be handed over to the German government. He jerks into action, his voice hardening even while his mind is still reeling from the thought of Tony dead. Action always did help him keep emotions from becoming overwhelming.
“Okay.” It comes out steely, commanding. “We need to move if we want any time to plan before we’re out of the country.” Silence meets his statement and he narrows his eyes at the group.
Scott finally speaks up. “Plan what, man? You heard the King, we’re screwed. The entire world is going to be looking for us. How the hell are we supposed to hide from everyone?”
“We’ll figure something out. For now, we need to get moving, or we won’t even get the chance to try. We don’t want T’Challa turning us in.” Steve feels a moment of crippling fear over whether T’Challa will really keep his promise and keep Bucky safe, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. He knows Bucky is too well guarded to try to break him out of cryo and bring him with them, and the two hours that T’Challa gave them to vacate the palace isn’t enough time to create a plan to get him out. He’ll just have to hope that the King keeps his word.
They pack the few things they own and set off on back roads for the Wakandan border, traversing the entire distance on foot after only one disastrous attempt to convince a local to let them hitch a ride. The Wakandans don’t seem too happy with their King’s decision to harbor fugitives.
Steve spends the time thinking about Bucky, trying not to think about Tony, and desperately trying to come up with a plan for the future. It’s looking pretty grim; none of them have reliable contacts in this part of the world, at least not any that would overlook their crimes to help them. Even if they did, they have almost no way of contacting anyone. Clint wisely suggested that they dump any electronics that could be used to trace them before they crossed the Wakandan border. Steve suspects it was partly out of spite, in the hopes that the authorities would trace their technology back to Wakanda and find out the King was harboring them, but it’s still a good idea.
Just over four days after crossing the border, they have the shaky outline of a plan for the foreseeable future. Despite Sam and Scott’s frosty attitudes toward him, Steve feels the first glimmer of hope in days, hope that they might be able to work something out, even get a chance to clear their names.
Thanos arrives that afternoon.