Chapter Five:

AN: The long-awaited chapter! Sorry it's late again, I was extremely busy these past four days. But here it is! Also, thank you soooooo much for reviewing and favorite-ing (?) my story! I'm afraid I may have given up on it had there not been such a positive response. Thank you all so much and I hope you enjoy the last chapter of Hold Your Breath.

Wanda:

But now she felt the weight full force. It sank upon her back, gripping her chest, and twisting her guts all up in knots and tangles. Forty-seven dead, maybe forty-eight. It hurt her the way Steve could become just another number. Rogers was perhaps the only one, save for Pietro that she could whole-heartedly trust. They needed him. Their group was nothing without him, captain-less. And what a sorry state to be.

"We should go to him."

The normally regal Thor looked at her with a similar sort of oppression. "Tony is right. Rogers would want us to be there."

"He would."

Clint didn't say anything.

"What should we do with them?" Wanda asked, nodding towards their captives.

She could feel the other two slipping deeper into their visions, becoming totally engrossed and thoroughly incapacitated. Now that Wanda was drained of the raging fury, she could just barely pick out their thoughts drifting in the back of their heads. She saw blurrily, as if through a dirtied lens, a scene of mourning. Several men were gathered before the rubble, staring out over where three hovercrafts twisted up out of the debris. She could feel their loss of comrades gripping at their hearts, and the seething need for revenge muddying their minds.

"I'll stay," Clint said.

His eyes were as hard as before, but also empty.

"Barton," Thor said hesitantly, as if unsure what to say. "We can find a Legion to guard them."

"Then I'll watch until one can."

Wanda wanted to fight him on it, to wake him of this empty, hateful state he seemed to be under.

"Clint, didn't you hear Tony? Steve is close to death."

His face grew dark at her bluntness.

"Then we can't let his assassins escape, can we?"

"You speak as if he's already dead," she snapped.

"He might as well be! You didn't see him Wanda, you weren't there! Tony says it's bad, and it is. But you can't even imagine the scope of this because you weren't there!"

Wanda found she didn't know what to say, maybe for the first time in her life.

"Barton, we have to go see him."

Thor put a hand on his shoulder.

"Then go," he said, shaking the hand off.

Clint's voice was hard and strained and weak all at the same time. Wanda hated it.

"You'll regret this," she said, but Wanda wasn't going to waste her time arguing with him. "For as long as you live, you'll regret this," and she spun on her heel, bathing the way with crimson light.

She heard footsteps behind her, one pair.

When they reached the quinjet, she could hear an odd sort of keening, like weeping. We're too late, she thought. He's dead. Her heart started hammering in her chest and she walked faster, stalking up the quinjet's landing pad and into the ship. The source of the crying was a SHIELD agent she didn't recognize, sobbing into the palms of her hand. Another SHIELD agent had an arm wrapped around her, his dark curly hair hiding a face Wanda knew to be equally distraught. She could feel the pain in his mind. The female SHIELD agent, a dirty blonde-haired woman about thirty years old, wept steadily, a name flitting about her head with an odd string of memories to accompany them. Carl, Carl. The man of her melancholy thoughts wore a SHIELD uniform in a few of the random instances of recollection, but Wanda couldn't place him in her own memories.

"Agent Romanoff said it was very quick, Amy. Virtually pain-, painless," the curly-headed man said, giving the woman a squeeze. "We can be thankful for that much…"

She didn't say anything, but cried into her hands. It was then that the four agents, all sitting closely on a metal bench, saw the two Avengers.

"Where is the Captain?" Wanda asked.

She, of course, had her answer before it was voiced aloud, the vague image of a sterile room with silver equipment and IV racks coming to the man's mind.

"The medical bay, I think. Dr. Cho's already placed him in the cradle."

Wanda was walking through the quinjet before he had even finished. She made for the room almost numbly, taking no notice of the plane's interior. She couldn't think more than to place one foot in front of the other. As she grew closer to the medical bay, the most intense feelings of depression she had ever felt haunted the minds residing there. And pain, so much pain, it was like every fiber of her body was being ripped loose, tone into pieces, and scalded against flame. It was heavy and raging and migraine-inducing. Steve, she thought, barely able to put words together as she was assaulted by this agony.

She and Thor came around the corner to find Nat, Vision, Hill, her brother, and Bruce sitting outside the door. They looked up from the ground, eyes on the newest additions.

"Have you been in to see him already?" Thor asked.

Nat nodded her head and said, "We just didn't want to crowd Dr. Cho."

"Ahh."

As Wanda approached the door, her brother reached for her hand and squeezed it. She didn't smile, but there was a mutual understanding. Her brother was going to be there for her no matter what was facing them through the door. And that was the strength enough to go on. The cool metal door handle was then in her hand, placid against her palm. Don't you know that you lead to the hardest thing I'll ever have to bear?

"Wanda," and she felt a warm hand on her arm.

Thor's face was just as terrified, dubious, but there was a subtle sort of strength there. Something different from holding up a car roof or wielding lightning. It was a wholly other form of resistance. And Wanda felt it leech into her mind from his, giving her strength as well. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Clint:

There's something to be said about rage, Clint thought. It really can wipe you clean of everything. In fact, he felt slightly envious of Bruce. To be angry all the time must be bliss. To be so tangled up in a fire that it consumes all thought was a sweet notion in Clint's opinion. But there is only ever so much firewood, and the flames will die eventually. They already were in Clint. Soon, he'd be cooling coals and a bit of smoke, the smell clinging to the edges. He wanted to burn forever, or as long as it took to become numb of everything. So he punched the man before him until both hand and face bled. Blood is hot and red. Blood will keep the fire. And Clint didn't think he could bear his rage going cold.

Steve was dying. Punch. And Clint couldn't save him. Kick. Time would never heal this wound. Punch. The Avengers would never survive this. Fist to face until breathless. They were going to fall apart as surely as the sun was going to rise soon.

He pounded the man before him, fist smarting with every impact. The man's skin was quickly blooming violet, a bruise unfurling across his cheek. And then there was blood, seeping from a split lip and broken teeth. Clint completely lost himself in the violence, his vision narrowing until it was just his clenched hand flying through the air. The archer was no stranger to hurting people. As a SHIELD agent and master assassin, he had killed many before, but there was always justification. Well, he could find purpose in this. You killed them, you murdered them all. It made it easier to continue and the world fall on deaf ears. Steve's going to die, you pointless waste. He was the best of us and he's gonna die because of your heartless terrorism.

"Clint."

He didn't even notice that he was punching a still body.

"Please, stop."

Was he unconscious or had Clint killed him?

"Clint!"

His fists fell away, and the archer stumbled backwards. His knuckles burned and his wrists ached. The red was everywhere and it was dripping onto the pavement. Even when he turned, red was in her eyes, on her cheeks, in her hair, on her clothes.

"Please," she whispered, and red was fading from his mind.

"I'm sorry. I don't...I-," he mumbled, stumbling on the words.

She stepped closer, the beam of her flashlight dropping to the asphalt.

"Come here."

It was a command, an order. He knew how to follow orders if nothing else.

He wrapped his arms around her, the familiar smell of her shampoo clinging faintly to the curls tickling his face. Nat's muscled arms were secured around his neck, holding him close. The flames were stomped out completely now, and he was left to feel, fully and unencumbered.

"Oh god," he said, throat achingly tight. "What am I doing? Jesus."

"Clint, it's alright. We're okay, okay?"

It sounded more like she was comforting herself. Clint hugged her tighter. It was odd, this lack of fire. He felt naked without the flames to heat the ice in his heart. But now he could feel that shard buried there, piercing his chest more strongly than he could bear. He felt tears track down his face.

"I don't think I can do it."

"Do what?" she asked, voice hoarse.

"Look at him."

She pulled away, fixing him with a gaze more piercing than any shard of ice could be, even in near pitch darkness.

"He's not a deformed monstrosity, he's Steve."

"I know."

"He's in a lot of pain, but he's not conscious."

"Is that somehow better?"

She nodded fervently.

"Yes. I'd rather never speak another word with him than hear him in pain."

"Then why must I see him like that?"

Natasha gripped his hand, curling her arm around his and pulling it to her chest.

"Because you'll never forgive yourself, and you should at least say goodbye."

Clint wiped his eyes, pinching his nose and looking down at his shoes.

"Do you really think he's going to die?"

She blinked fiercely and said, "I can't hope for anything more."

"What do you mean? Is there really no chance for him?" he asked.

"Even if there was, I don't think I could let myself hope."

Clint felt more tears on his face. He rubbed them away quickly.

"I'll go."

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, breathing deeply.

"Then let's go…"

Let's go say goodbye.

Somehow, it was worse than he thought. Clint had expected to be affected by the state of him, by the way his bones would be all twisted up inside and the blood would pour from the tears made in his skin, but he wasn't. Granted, the super soldier did look as bad as Clint had feared, but when he first laid eyes upon him, lying there in the cradle, the archer was more overcome with despair and fear for the life of his friend than apprehension for the state of his body.

Steve was severely injured, so much so that Clint was truly surprised he had lasted so long. The mechanical arms of the cradle worked fast and in tandem with Dr. Cho, working on putting back together the man that had just been ripped apart. A large sheet of clear plastic curtained the table, protecting his open wounds from the air. Several stands surrounded the table, connecting him to wires and IV bags of saline and blood slowly pumping liquids. A large machine hummed in the background, breathing for him.

"Steve."

He stood frozen in the doorway, one foot in. Clint tried to force himself in, to approach the table and face his friend properly, but he couldn't move, couldn't even think. The voices of Bruce and Natasha behind him were sucked away, the edges of the room blurring just a bit, and the lights above dimming. A long time passed before he could take that first step.

"How bad is it?"

Clint immediately hated how weak the words were, not in their voicing, but in the meaning they held. How bad is it? Clint could be speaking of anything, a ding in the car door, a flooded basement. There wasn't strong enough words to describe how he felt and voice the questions burning in his head.

"His back is broken, skull cracked, severe internal damage."

Dr. Cho was curt and to the point.

"Is that all?"

She binned a length of gauze, completely soaked through.

"Several more breaks-ribs, arms, legs. He also had a collapsed lung, but the cradle's already taken care of that…" she said, returning to her work with barely a glance in Clint's direction.

He was at the table now, eyes transfixed on the man before him. Steve was devoid of clothes save for briefs, all of his wounds exposed. His skin was bruised where it wasn't bloodied. His eyes were closed, but a pained expression lingered on his features. Of course, Clint saw nothing else as his eyes fell on the massive incision across Steve's chest, allowing access for the cradle's arms to work on the tissue damage within.

"What can I do to help?" he asked, if only to keep his mind busy.

He had to focus on something other than Steve's innards slowly seeping blood, glinting under the light of the plane's fluorescent bulbs. Cho shook her head and said, "Nothing. The cradle's doing most of the work, repairing and replacing damaged tissue. I'm just cleaning up the blood."

"Alright."

A long time passed before he even noticed Wanda and Thor sitting against the wall, seeming to hide in the area where his vision had gone dark. Thor was silent, eyes fixed without seeing on Steve's mangled body. Wanda buried her face in her arms, resting upon her knees. Clint crossed the room to take a seat beside her, joints aching and sleep weighing heavy on his mind.

"I hope he stays unconscious," Thor whispered after a moment.

"Me too," Clint said.

Wanda let a shaky breath go, her eyes shining with budding tears when she raised her head. Clint was surprised by the amount of pain residing there.

"God, I hope so."

Tony:

Steve never did wake up, and Tony never did go to visit him. He kept to himself, unable to handle the dark look plaguing everyone when they came back from Steve's room, and unable to stand the heavy weight suffocating the commune floor in the weeks that followed.

Their prisoners were held somewhere in the Tower, looked over by Friday and the Legion. Tony couldn't bring himself to care much what happened to them so he left them to a small post of guard bots, the others back in the Rockies working on digging up the dead. Fury was there, fully recovered, with the remains of SHIELD to take proper care of the dead.

The Avengers resided in the Tower, wandering about the commune floor without aim, and Tony locked himself away in the lab, staring at holographic screens all day and dreading when Cho's news would finally come.

"You can't hide in here, you know," he said, taking a seat across from Tony and pinning him with a look from behind glasses.

"I'm not hiding."

"Believe me, I know what hiding looks like," Bruce said. "Steve's still not conscious," he added a few minutes later.

"Alright."

"Just thought you should know."

"Coma?"

Bruce didn't have to answer.

"That's probably best," he said, trailing off.

"Why is that probably best? He's most likely going to die," Bruce snapped in a hard voice.

"Yes, he is."

Tony was left alone after that. He didn't mind though. Everyone else just dredged up painful thoughts and memories. I could have scanned the tunnel before we went in. I could have acted faster. I could have built better fucking bots that don't malfunction and get people killed. Even alone, Tony couldn't escape the thoughts. Nat was the worst to be around, not that she made it hard on everyone else, but because her expressions were the emptiest, her voice the most quiet. She seemed to hide as much as Tony did, unable to face the others, but she hid in the medical bay, not the lab, never leaving Steve's side. Tony knew that everyone had been in to see him at some point since returning to the Tower, but he hadn't lain eyes on the Captain since depositing him in the cradle in the quinjet some five weeks ago.

Thor had spoken with him, Clint yelled at him, and Wanda begged of him, but he just couldn't go down there, couldn't force his presence on the man he had ultimately killed. It was almost three months, however, after the incident, that he saw him again no matter how hard he had worked to avoid visits.

"They're going to pull the plug," Wanda said, eyes flashing red.

"Okay."

Tony didn't look up from the new suit specs he had half-heartedly been working on.

"Do you even care?" she asked, voice tight.

He glared up from his desk, overcome with anger.

"Of course I fucking care."

"Then come see him."

Tony rolled his eyes and said, "What does it matter? It's not like I can talk to him anyway." Wanda's eyes flashed again and she said, "Stop being a goddamn coward." He was taken aback by her words and the anger in her voice.

"I'm not a coward."

She pierced him with a look and reached back for the door.

"You should follow your own advice."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Wanda was already halfway out the door, but she turned around and said, "The night it happened, you came to us and said that he might pass any time. Well, he's going to die soon, tonight." She stopped for a moment, her voice breaking just a bit. "And you should think about where you want to be when he does."

Tony stepped through the doors, and into the sterile white hallway where everyone was gathered. Thor looked up at him with the most defeated expression Tony had ever seen on his usually righteous features. Bruce sat in the corner, head buried in his knees, dark curls mussed. Wanda and Pietro were sitting close, shoulders pressed together. Hill was crying quietly in her hands, not lugubrious, but with all the raw and chest-gripping power as if she were weeping.

"We have all already been in to visit him," Vision said from his seat beside Wanda.

He held her hand, rubbing her knuckles methodically with his thumb.

"Where's Nat?" Tony asked as he counted all but her.

Clint nodded towards the end of the hall, behind a white and chrome door.

"Ah. Should have known."

Maria sniffed and looked up, eyes as red as everyone else's, if not more so. Bruce did as well, his empty gaze finding Tony's as if he had just stumbled across them by accident and lost the strength to look away.

"How are you, big guy?" Tony asked, and sat down across from him.

Bruce chuckled without smiling and said, "It's been a night." Tony then asked, "How's Nat doing?" He wasn't sure exactly why he was sitting out here making small talk, but the closer he looked at that door, the harder it was to gather the courage to go through.

"She's not doing any better than us," Bruce said, rubbing his face.

Tony nodded and looked away, feeling the burn in his throat grow hotter.

"Where's the pirate?" Tony asked.

Bruce actually smiled at that one, if only a little bit, and said, "Fury was here earlier, but he left after a couple minutes. Said he was really busy." Tony didn't say anything after that for a while and everyone sat in companionable silence. The engineer was glad for it. The lack of conversation made it easier to focus on getting up off the floor. When he did, he felt the world start to spin, the fluorescent bulbs above making his head throb. He leaned against the wall for a moment, and put a hand over his eyes.

"Tony?" Bruce said, the tips of his shoes coming into view.

He took a deep breath, gathering himself to put back together later.

"I'm fine, I just…I need a minute."

A minute passed, and then another, and another until Tony could lift his head and face his team, his friends.

"OK," he said, not knowing what else to say and turned for the door.

The room where he finally saw Rogers again was small, modest. There was a small window letting moonlight bathe the tiled floor and only bed. Several racks and a whirring machine were attached to it, breathing for Steve. The sight of him was enough to knock the wind from Tony. Nat looked up from the side of the bed, eyes shining with unspoken grief, unshed tears.

"Hey," Tony said, and sat across from her on the other side of Steve's bed.

His face was relaxed in sleep, and he looked for all the world perfectly okay...aside from the breathing mask upon his mouth.

"Hey," she said, giving him a tiny smile. "He'd be glad you came," she added. "No matter how much you hate each other."

"I don't hate him," Tony said. "I just occasionally despise him."

She chuckled. "That's the most accurate description of your guys' relationship, actually."

"What is an engineer if not accurate?" he said, chuckling awkwardly.

He really didn't know what to say, a state Tony was rarely known to be in. Every time he thought of something, he dismissed it just as quickly. Everything seemed trivial and weak.

"So when are they going to, uh, you know…" Tony asked, turning away from the blonde when his eyes began to burn. He blinked furiously.

"Whenever you're ready. Everyone's already been in to see him," Nat answered in a tight voice.

"When I'm ready. Hmm," he said, barely a whisper.

Nat sniffed and said, "Not sure anyone could be ready for something like this, but that's what the medi-staff said." Tony nodded and let his eyes wander the room, gripping the arms of his wooden chair rigidly.

"Do you want me to step out?" Nat asked, blue eyes brimming with tears.

Tony nodded slowly and said, "I won't be long."

"Okay," Natasha said, and she rose from her chair stiffly, like she had been sitting there for a very long time.

The room's door opened and closed quickly, her vibrant curls the last thing he saw of her. Tony looked at Steve again who lay very still, the only motion that of his rising chest.

"Hey, old man," he said in greeting.

Steve's machine coaxed another inhale.

"This, uh, well…this is incredibly hard," Tony said, eyes beginning to smart again. "Just keep that in mind, okay? I'm going to try my best," he ended in a rush, wiping his eyes.

Tony took a deep breath and exhaled shakily, preparing in his head exactly what he wanted to say.

"Alright, here it is. Here we go. Um…" he started, but nothing would come to mind, not one single point he wanted to make or thing to say.

"Oh god, this is shit. I'm actually really failing at this. Jesus, I don't even know what to fucking think," he said, rubbing his head.

Steve's breathing filled the silence and Tony glanced away at the humming machines, trying to get a hold of the tumulus thoughts in his head. A couple minutes passed with Tony just sitting there, head in his hands, and listening to the whir of the machines and the faint hum of chatter outside.

"Firstly, I just want to say that I'm sorry. Turns out that the wires had shorted out in the bot, but whatever. I'm sorry. It's my fault you're here and hurt so badly, it's my fault that all of our friends are out there mourning you, and it's my fault your life's been cut short. I'm sorry, Steve."

Tony wiped his face viciously, hand rough against his face, but no matter how hard he rubbed, tears kept flowing over his knuckles.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'll…I'll never forgive my-, myself."

Another steady inhalation.

"I'm so sorry," he said, standing up from the chair, and striding for the door.

When his hand touched the doorknob, he turned back, gazed for the last time on his broken friend, and said, "Goodnight, Cap." Tony opened the door, allowing the hallway light to spill in across the floor behind him. And then an alarm went off.

Nat:

Just as Tony opened the door, a harsh buzzing noise sounded out and a nurse came from a room off the hallway.

"Steve!" Tony said, voice tight, and he ducked back into the room.

The nurse strode in next, and Nat followed, dread curling heavy in her stomach. It was unfounded, for there he was, blue eyes peering up at them, and finger tapping at the alarm button on his bed.

"He's awake!" she called back into the hall, heart soaring.

She heard the others get up, ask questions, but she only had attention for him. Steve's gaze was locked on Tony, brows furrowed as he tried to work out where he was, why he couldn't breathe freely.

"Steve, I'm your respiratory nurse, John. Stay calm. I'm going to help you breathe in just a moment, okay?" The grey-clad nurse than turned to the two Avengers and said, "Please wait outside. I'll bring you back in when he's more stable," and shooed them out.

Nat glanced one last time at Steve and offered a smile before she and Tony were both kicked out.

It was a long time before Steve was allowed visitors, nearing the dawn hours. His nurses worked swiftly, but they kept the others from coming in so that Steve could recover. "He's sleeping," was the last they had heard of him, but they knew him to be stable at least. When at last they were allowed in, Steve's wide blue eyes took in everyone like he was seeing the stars for the first time.

"Hey," Nat said, taking her usual seat beside him.

Steve looked at her and smiled warmly. The others took seats around, dragging up chairs and sitting against the wall. In Steve's hands was a white board and dry-erase marker. On it, he wrote, "Hello." It was just so normal, totally commonplace and too casual for this monumental moment that Nat laughed.

"Something I said?" he wrote with a sly grin.

Tony laughed, and said, "At least you feel well enough for humor. God knows you could use some of that." Steve rolled his eyes.

"So how's everyone been?" he wrote, glancing around the room.

Nat didn't really have the heart to tell him that they'd been doing horribly, that all they'd done was cry and mourn and hopelessly hope for some miracle to fall upon their captain.

"We've been doing alri-"

"It's been hell," Tony said, cutting Pietro off.

Steve looked sheepish.

"Sorry," he wrote on the board.

Tony scoffed and said loudly, "What for? Youdidn't drop a mountain on yourself!" to which Steve grinned larger.

"No one's fault, then," he scrawled, nodding like this was the final and only opinion to have left. "Just happy everyone's here."

Nat watched with a mild wave of shock as Thor, who had been standing towards the back of the group, pushed through and wrapped Steve up in a hug, his enormous arms blocking the soldier from view.

"And we are glad that you are here," Thor said triumphantly when he pulled away, his hand clasping onto Steve's shoulder.

Rogers smiled once more and the tension in the room began to dissolve. Nat watched in silence, ever observant as the group returned to what they had been before. Thor's booming voice bounced about the room, Tony's witty one-liners thrown in between, Clint's raunchy jokes and Bruce's quiet humor filling the spaces. The twins and the Vision watched the exchange in silence per usual, and Hill had ducked out, probably to catch up on some much-needed sleep. Nat could feel the fatigue too, felt it settling heavily in her bones, but she easily fought it off, watching her closest friends grow back together again.

"I think it's time for rest," Thor said finally once the room had grown dark and quiet.

"Agreed," Clint said, and he followed the god from the room, stopping only to bid Steve goodnight.

Wanda, Pietro, and the Vision left next. Her brother's arm was around her shoulders, and Vision's crimson hand entwined with Wanda's. Nat had a budding suspicion about the two, but she was too tired to feel anything about it, just think with a smile how funny it was that the scarlet man had gravitated towards the Scarlet Witch.

"Goodnight, Steve," Bruce said, hands in his pockets and looking over the rims of his glasses at the soldier.

Steve nodded and Bruce left the room, walking as if he were floating along a current. The nurse checked the machines and monitors once more and said, "I'll just be in the next room, Steve. Ring if you need me, alright?" With that, he was gone too.

"Well," Tony said after a moment. "You certainly know how to clear a room."

Steve grinned.

"I'm gonna go too, I guess. Haven't slept in, oh," Tony said, glancing at his watch. "-a million hours."

"Go on, I'll be here tomorrow," Steve wrote, and Tony stood up from his chair.

"It's good to have you back, Cap," he said, and walked for the door.

Steve scribbled something on the board and nudged Nat, nodding towards Tony.
"Hey," she said, and when he turned around, Steve showed the board to him.

Tony's face turned a bit pink, but he gave a reluctant smile.

"Thanks, Rogers," he said, giving the soldier one last glance before ducking out.

Steve set the board back down on the bed, three words upon it: I forgive you.

With the room now completely silent, save for their breathing, Nat started to feel tired enough to just pass out right there. It was pleasantly warm, and the only light that of a side table lamp and the moon streaming in through the window above his bed. In fact, she had just started to nod off when she felt a hand grip hers.

"Steve?" she asked, coming to. "Whatisit? Need something?"

He shook his head, and scribbled something on his board.

"I wish I could talk."

"You will soon."

Steve rubbed the ink away and wrote something else.

"No, wish I could talk so I could say thank you."

Nat huffed and said, "Thank me? You're the one that kept us alive."

"But I would've given up sooner."

She squeezed his hand and said nothing else for a while. Nat was wrapped up in her head, the thought that they had almost given up piercing sharply through her mind. She and Steve were oh so close to giving in, but then Tony had finally come. She owed her life to the both of them, and for the first time in her terrible, violent, and bloody one, she didn't mind. In fact, she would gladly sacrifice herself for any one of the Avengers. That's why it was so hard to watch Steve slip further and further away, slide out of life as if he had never touched it. She couldn't throw herself in front of a bot or an alien or a Hydra operative. There was nothing to fight against with Steve lost in his mind, just like there had been nothing she could do in the tunnel. And now, Nat felt like this was all a hallucination, an evil trick that would resolve itself into what it most likely would've been-a headstone, and a scar upon her heart that would forever smart.

"Glad for another thing, too," he wrote, eyes heavy with fatigue.

"What's that?" she asked.

He erased the board and inked upon it, "When I woke up from a coma this time, it was still the same year." Nat rolled her eyes and said, "Go to sleep, Rogers."

"Only if you do too." His handwriting had grown messy.

She rubbed a thumb across his knuckles as Steve's breathing slowed.

"I think I'll sit here for a little bit," she said to which he nodded, closing his eyes and letting his head sink further into the pillows.

Nat reached forward and took the marker and board, setting it down on the side table without a noise.

"Goodnight, Steve," she said, and when she began to feel too tired to stay any longer, she didn't worry. She didn't feel her stomach roll with guilt that she was abandoning him. Nat felt content, and so relieved that when she came back in the morning, it wouldn't be to an empty shell. Everything was okay again, even if it wouldn't stay that way very long.

They were the Avengers, after all.