As I said before, you will find no slash in any of my stories.

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel, The Avengers, the Youtube song "Bromance", or anything else you recognize. Actually you won't recognize the "Bromance" song because I didn't put it in here in the first place.

Steve was dying.

He knew and accepted that fact, but it was still a bit shocking.

He was dying. Captain America wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to protect the innocent. He was even expected to get hurt protecting the innocent. But not die. Never die.

He should be scared. He knew that, too. Normal, sane people would be scared. So he tried. He tried to force himself to shake with fear at the prospect of death, but he couldn't seem to dredge up the energy to do so.

If he was completely honest with himself, he just didn't care.

How bad could death be, really? What was so terrible about it? Worst case scenario, he was going to burn eternally in . . . he backed up his thoughts a little. Okay, so worst case scenario was pretty bad.

But besides the worst case scenario, it couldn't be too terrible. What if he just . . . stopped? He became a big, whirling vortex of . . . nothing? He wouldn't feel, see, touch, taste, smell. He would be nothing. He would consist of nothingness. He wouldn't exist, and nothing would matter.

Then there was always that small spark of hope. It burned as dimly as a cooling ember in the back of his mind, but, no matter how furious the winds of doubt were, its light refused to burn out. It was the hope that maybe . . . maybe Bucky was waiting for him. And Peggy, too. His chest warmed with pleasure at that thought, and he almost smiled. He could picture their reactions in their minds so clearly, it was almost as if they were standing right there in front of him. Bucky would clap him on the back, a huge grin on his face. "Welcome back, punk," he'd say while Peggy would stand with her arms crossed in front of her. The stern look on her face would be marred only by the smile trying to force its way onto her lips as she'd say, "You're late."

Steve lazily realized that sometime during the video playing in his head, the chilling darkness that had been creeping ever closer to his consciousness had started to consume his body. He briefly wondered if that was a bad thing, but with the darkness came the muffling of pain. The burning, unadulterated fire that had been coursing through his bloodstream was now just a dull throbbing sensation. His head no longer felt as though a truck was being rammed into it continuously. It'd downgraded to a hammer. He couldn't even feel his torso anymore, which he knew was a very, very good thing. He wasn't exactly sure why it was a good thing, and he had this niggling feeling that he was better off not remembering.

But this darkness wasn't anything like the exhaustion that overcame him when he was about to fall asleep. This was . . . different. This darkness was cold and unfeeling. It crept and lurked about him until it knew he was in no shape to put up a fight. It was smart. It knew just when to strike so he would have no defense against the numbness that was now spreading through his body.

It wanted him.

And Steve was so tired. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of plastering a smile on his face and pretending he was fine. He was tired of being heroic. He was tired of living.

So when the darkness stretched out its shadowy, cold hand, Steve brought his own forward to take hold of it. He stretched his fingers closer and, as everything else faded away . . . hesitated. Did he want to do this? This was life. This was breathing, thinking, feeling. He didn't know what awaited him on the other side. Would it be fire? Emptiness? Or. . . .

An image of him and Peggy twirling and swaying – she laughing and lighting up the room with her smile – flashed in his mind. A desperate longing that had been buried deep inside his heart suddenly surged forward. Before he knew what was happening, his hand had grasped the one offered to him.

The darkness shrieked in triumph, its hold on his hand tightening until it was all he was aware of. It started to pull him forward, and the pain nearly left him entirely – and then someone said his name.

Steve stopped abruptly, halting his progress. The darkness hissed with anger and began dragging him forward again, but Steve dug his heels into the ground.

"Steve."

There it was again.

"Don't do this to me. You can't do this to me. Is this payback for the time I drew a mustache on you while you were taking a nap? Because this is so not funny. If you – when you wake up, I promise to give you lessons on pranking. Scout's honor. Not that I ever was a scout, but I'm sure you were. Did they even have Boy Scouts in the 40's? Well, if they did, I bet you were one."

The voice was rambling, but it sounded vaguely familiar . . . Tony?

"Good, good, keep breathing. Now you need to open your eyes, Cap. That's just the next step. Open your eyes and I will stop bothering you until the end of the frickin' world. Or next month, whichever comes first."

Was he still breathing? He couldn't really tell.

The darkness didn't like waiting. It gave a viscous tug on Steve's hand. He lost his footing and stumbled forward, his free arm windmilling as he tried to keep his balance.

"No, no, nonono! Steve, stay with me! You can't give up! Dang it, Steve, breathe! You've still got a pulse . . . I know you're still there!" Tony sounded like he was panicking, which was weird in itself, because Tony did not panic. Ever. "What the heck do you think you're doing? You're not going to just keel over and die on me!"

Steve strained against the darkness and tried to pull himself backwards, but its hand was still tightened around his wrist and it didn't seem like it was going to let up anytime soon.

"You know, you claim to be so selfless and caring and putting-others-above-thyself and crap, but this is the most selfish thing you have ever done!"

Steve almost froze mid-tug in shock at those words.

"You think you're the only one who will be affected by your death? What about America? You're this country's golden boy – you die, and its like . . . its like . . . its like the bald eagle population going extinct! Or not. The point is, America looks up to you. You're America's hope."

The billionaire's words gave Steve energy and a sense of purpose. He leaned back, throwing his weight against his captor's. But then the darkness . . . changed. It shifted, its wispy form morphing into a solid figure with dark eyes and a cocky grin. . . .

"B-Bucky?"

His smiling best friend stood in front of him, his firm, solid, real hand clutching Steve's. "Steve," he laughed. "Long time no see, eh?"

Steve's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then finally he got his voice back. "How – you – what are you doing here?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow and suddenly Steve was back on the streets of Brooklyn, being protected by his bigger best friend again. "Are you serious? I'm here to take you home."

Steve nearly choked. "Home?"

Bucky frowned. "Yeah. You know, back with me and your folks and all them." Then understanding dawned in his eyes. "Oh, you thought I meant your actual house. No, no." He started to tug Steve forward. "C'mon, I'll show you."

Steve wanted to go. He wanted to go so bad. But he felt like there was some reason to stay . . . some reason to resist. . . . "Wait," he said, holding up a hand and causing Bucky to pause.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Steve, come on. Even after the serum, you're still a slow-poke. Do you remember when I used to have to literally drag you to the movie theater?"

Steve grinned. "I think you'll have a harder time doing that now," he said, allowing his feet to move forward.

"America's not enough? No? Your country isn't enough to live for? Fine, fine. Um . . . how about the citizens?" Tony's frantic voice was back, but it was fainter now. "What about all of the innocent people whose lives you save every other day? They're gonna miss you. And – and a lot of people would die without you, 'cause you're always the one to run toward the bomb – not away, toward – with your stupid shield because you're such a pansy and you always talk about how your life isn't worth as much as those precious fans of yours."

Steve halted again. Bucky turned back to face him, annoyance written on his face. "What is it this time?"

Steve shook his head. "It's just – I don't know, I kind of want to. . . ." he trailed off.

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "You just want to what?"

Steve's head was feeling really muggy. It was hard to think straight. "I kind of want to stay."

Bucky's face twisted into a scowl. "I guess we don't mean anything to you, do we?" he asked quietly, bitterness puncturing his words.

"No, I didn't say that -"

"That's what you meant!" Bucky roared, his face inches away from Steve's, his hand still in a white-knuckle grip around the soldier's wrist. "After the serum, you decided you didn't need us! Is that what it is?"

Steve's foggy mind was preventing him from making a sound argument. "Bucky-"

His best friend began evaporating before his very eyes, his once-solid body now becoming shadowy and dark. The last thing to leave, though, were his eyes. They stared at Steve balefully, sorrow and anger hidden deep within the two orbs. Then they were gone, as well.

Steve felt as though someone had taken a crowbar and hit him over the head with it. Bucky had been right there in front of him . . . and then he'd let him slip from his grasp . . . again. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and started to turn back and head toward Tony's voice.

But then he was stopped again.

"Steve."

He nearly collapsed to the ground. He was exhausted. He couldn't handle this emotional duress. He could feel the gaseous yet strong hold on his wrist morph again, this time into a slender, thin hand that couldn't quite wrap its fingers all the way around his arm.

He kept his head bowed and refused to turn around. "Peggy," he whispered.

"Steve," she said softly. "Look at me." She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and slowly maneuvered him so he was facing her.

She was just as beautiful as he remembered. Her long, curly hair fell past her shoulders, but the front of it was pinned up so her sparkling eyes and rare smile were in plain view. She moved her hand from his shoulder and onto his chest and gazed up at him. "I miss you."

Those three words crushed his resolve. "I," he swallowed thickly, feeling like his saliva had suddenly turned to syrup. "I miss you, too." He took a step forward, toward Peggy, toward the darkness.

Away from the light.

"NO! Steve, wake up wake up wake UP! You can't do this to me! You've just gotta hold on . . . hold on until Bruce get here. I told him to come down here, I told him, Steve, I really did. I'm not quite sure I got through to him, though . . . you know, being a ginormous green rage monster impairs communication sometimes. . . . So much blood. . . . I'm not a doctor, Cap! So quit making me try to be one!" The voice was dying away, as was any remembrance Steve had of it. "Don't leave us!"

Steve turned his head toward the voice that sounded so far away . . . and so familiar . . . but Peggy pulled him back, and he followed her obediently . . . deeper into the darkness. . . .

"Steve." The voice was so quiet by now, he almost missed that one word. That one, broken word. His steps faltered, but Peggy continued holding onto his wrist and keeping him upright.

"We need you."

Again, three words. Three measly, unimportant words. But one powerful sentence.

"Peggy," he said, and she turned those pretty, bright eyes on him and suddenly he didn't want to say it. He didn't want to leave her.

But . . . he had to. They needed him – whoever "they" was. He had a sudden, brief memory of a glint of red and gold, a powerful roar that shook the earth, a crack of lightning, a mane of scarlet hair, and an arrow puncturing a target.

How could he have forgotten those things?

"I have to go back."

Peggy turned to look at him, a look of utter sadness on her face. "What?" she whispered.

Steve forced himself to look her in the eyes. "Peggy, I have to go back. These people . . . they need me."

Peggy clutched his arm, her cold fingers digging into his skin. "I thought . . . I thought you loved me, Steve."

Steve felt tears build up in his eyes, but he forced them back. He rested his hand on top of Peggy's. "I do, Peggy. I do love you."

Her eyes suddenly burned with fury. "Then why are you leaving me?" she cried. "You can't tell me you love me and then walk away!"

Steve teetered on the edge of the decision. If he followed Peggy, he'd be with her forever. He'd see Bucky again. He'd see his parents for the first time in who knows how many years. Maybe he'd be able to meet up with some of his former soldiers. He'd finally have what his heart had craved ever since he woke up from that iceberg.

If he went back . . . there'd be pain. He'd feel loss, he'd experience sadness, he'd be tired again. He'd have to wake up every morning and remind himself that this wasn't 1940 and that he wasn't Steve Rogers anymore. But he had friends now. Right? He thought he could safely say (not in front of them, of course) that they'd moved from teammates to friends at some point.

Forward, his old friends.

Backward, his new friends.

Forward, Steve Rogers.

Backward, Captain America.

He made his decision. Lunging forward, Steve Rogers kissed Peggy long and hard on the lips and felt her tense muscles relax. Then Captain America drew back from her.

"Bye, Peggy," he said. Then he quickly extracted himself from her grip and ran back down the way they'd come from, trying to ignore Peggy's sobs and cries of, "Steve! Come back!" He was nearing the end of the darkness, he just knew it. Ahead of him, a small glimmer of light was growing larger and larger as he ran closer and closer. . . .

Ow. The first thing he was aware of was the pain. It laced up and down his body like a never-ending stream of fire.

The second thing he was aware of was that he needed air. He took a deep, shuddering breath, but still didn't open his eyes. He didn't need to, though, to be aware of the figure that was suddenly crouched over him, blocking the bright sunlight from his closed eyelids.

"If you ever, ever, do that again, I will kill you. And I won't even be creative about it. I'll just shoot you in the face."

Tony's voice sounded unnaturally thick, and Steve opened his mouth to ask why but groaned in pain instead.

Tony was instantly reprimanding him. "Don't talk, stupid. You took five bullets to the stomach and chest, and also a car to the head. You're not gonna get very far."

Steve was about to prove to him exactly how far he could get when the sound of a helicopter interrupted him. The noise was growing louder and louder, and Steve knew he should stay awake because right now falling asleep would be bad but he hurt and he was tired and he couldn't get Peggy's devastated face out of his mind and he still wasn't sure he'd made the right choice.

So he did the only thing he could.

He passed out.

Steve slipped out of his dreamless sleep to awake in a completely white room. He squinted up at the ceiling, allowing his eyes to become adjusted to the dark room before turning his head to the side. Ouch. Note to self: Don't move your head.

Something tight was wrapped around his chest and stomach, and he could only assume they were bandages. He started to sit up, but fell back on the pillows, his body screeching in pain. Revised note to self: Don't move at all. He supposed he would have to make do with just his eyes. His gaze searched the entire room, but when it fell on a group of people at the right, it stopped.

Natasha was sitting upright in a hardback chair, her back pressed against the wall. If not for her closed eyes and deep, rhythmic breathing, Steve would've assumed she was awake. Clint was slumped down in a chair next to her, his head lolling to the side and his legs stretched out in front of him. Bruce was sitting at a small desk near his bed, his head propped up on his elbow and his glasses askew as he quietly snored. Thor had taken up two chairs, his body sprawled out between both of them, his hammer no where in sight. Steve figured the hospital staff hadn't allowed it to get anywhere closer to this building than the parking lot.

He shifted his position slightly, intending to go back to sleep, but when his arm hit something hard and warm he looked down. A chair had been pulled up right next to his bed and, sitting in it, was Tony. His back was bent almost double, and his head was resting on Steve's hospital bed, his mouth open as he snored loudly. Steve awkwardly stared at him for a while, wondering if he should just ignore the fact that a head was lying on his bed, or if he should risk waking Tony and move it.

It didn't take more than a split second to decide what to do. There was no way Steve was going to wake Tony up at – he glanced at the clock hanging on the wall – four in the morning. The man was an angry, disgruntled and sarcastic zombie if awoken before noon.

Having made his decision, he was just about to close his eyes and fall back asleep when the door to his room crashed open with a loud bang. Then several things happened at once.

Natasha's eyes flew open as fast as the door had, and before Steve even had time to finish sitting up, a knife was suddenly whizzing through the air. It slammed against the wall, trapping something against it. At the same time, Clint jumped out of his chair as if he'd been awake the whole time and charged toward the same thing Natasha had attached to the wall. Thor had come awake with a loud snort and was now bellowing in confusion and anger. Bruce had nearly Hulked out because he'd jumped so hard when the door had slammed open. Tony hadn't moved.

Steve directed his attention toward the door and saw a young male nurse quivering in fear and being held against the wall by Clint's arm against his throat. The collar of his uniform was pinned to the wall by Natasha's knife. His wide and terrified green eyes were darting frantically around the room, his chest heaving as he gulped in large amounts of air at once.

Clint, after studying his captive, released him and grinned. "Er, sorry about that. I thought you were -"

Unfortunately, Thor had not realized that no threat was currently present in the room. He hollered something unintelligible before extending his arm to the side. Too late, the others recognized the movement.

"No, Thor, he's -" Steve started.

Something smashed through the hospital's walls, its thuds as it connected with barriers punctuated by several screams. Natasha put her face in her hands and Tony jerked awake when Thor's hammer crashed through the last wall and landed in the god's hand.

"A good guy," Steve finished weakly.

Thor's eyebrows drew together as he studied the young man by Clint, still held to the wall by Natasha's knife. Then his eyes cleared. "Oh." He strode forward and extended his hand toward the kid, who looked like he was about to faint. Or pee his pants. "My apology, my good sir. I did not realize you worked at this building of ailments."

The nurse stared at the thunder god, his mouth gaping open.

Tony decided to fill the uncomfortable silence. "Unless you're here to give me a new car, kid, get outta here."

The nurse hastily complied. Or at least tried to. He was thrown back when the knife refused to budge from its position on the wall. Clint yanked it out and casually threw it back to Natasha as the kid bolted from the room.

Bruce groaned and face-planted the desk. "Thor," he said in a muffled tone of voice, "you are very lucky that Tony is rich."

Tony blanched. "Excuse me?"

Without looking up, Bruce gestured toward the gaping, hammer-sized hole in the wall.

Tony moaned and muttered something incoherently under his breath. Then he said in a louder tone of voice, "You know, it's not easy being the richest person on this team."

There was a collection of groans from everyone in the room.

"Yes, it must be so hard for you," Natasha said mock-sympathetically. "Do you want me to grab a tissue? Or buy the entire Kleenex company with your money?"

Tony leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on Steve's bed. "Yes, actually, if you wouldn't mind. I've been meaning to have my own tissue company."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "I think we should be focusing on the reason we're here, guys." Then he turned to Steve. "Steve, we took a vote while you were asleep, and it was unanimously decided that you are never allowed to do this again."

The atmosphere of the room instantly changed. What had once been light and humorous was now heavy and solemn.

Steve looked at each of the Avengers in turn, confusion written on his face. "Do what again?"

"This," Clint said, waving a hand at Steve. He tried to make his voice sound playful, but his eyes were hard. "I mean, five bullets, Cap? That's stretching it even for you."

"Steve," Natasha said, and Steve's heart almost stopped when he looked at her because suddenly she was Peggy and he was saying no and she was crying. . . . "You flatlined. Twice."

Steve stared at her blankly. Those words meant nothing to him.

Bruce provided an explanation. "It means your heart stopped beating, Steve. The first time, you . . . you were clinically dead for twenty seconds. But the second . . ." he scrubbed a hand over his face.

"We thought you were done," Tony finished.

Steve's eyes burned with unshed tears as he stared hard at his blanket, Peggy's voice echoing in his mind. "Steve! Come back!" "I – I had a choice, you know," he said quietly, refusing to make eye contact with the others. He could almost feel everyone's eyes on him as he continued. "I got to choose whether or not I was going to die."

Steve could hear the smile in Tony's voice as he said, "Well, it's a good thing you made the right choice -"

"That's just it, Tony!" Steve shouted, his head whipping up to look at the billionaire. "I don't know if I made the right choice!"

The silence after that outburst was deafening. "Steve," Natasha said weakly.

Steve ignored her. "If I had died, I would've been . . . I would've seen everyone again. They were all . . . they were all waiting for me." He looked into each person's eyes, silently pleading with someone to understand his inner struggle.

Then Tony finally spoke. "We were waiting for you too, you know."

Steve's sad blue eyes locked onto Tony's intense brown ones. "We need you." That's right, Tony had said that right before . . . right before. . . . Steve let out a breath of air and closed his eyes. "I know you were," he said. "That's . . . that's the only thing that pulled me back. It's the only thing that kept me from leaving."

No one said anything for a while, but then Steve felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Tony, an extremely rare serious expression on his face. "Steve, promise me, promise me, you won't ever do that again." His grip on his shoulder tightened. "Promise me that next time, you'll remember that you have us."

Steve suddenly couldn't speak past the large lump in his throat, so he simply nodded.

Tony nodded, satisfied. Then he lowered himself back into his chair. "Anyone up for shawarma?"

As Clint complained loudly, "Shawarma again?" and Thor bellowed his approval, Steve allowed himself to lay back on the bed.

For the first time since waking up, Steve was satisfied with the choice he'd made. I'm sorry, Peggy, he thought drowsily as he started to fall asleep. I guess I'll see you some other time.

And he was okay with that.

A/N: If you're into angsty fics, you should check out my story "Dealing". Just sayin'.